The Calm
by Oliver Crown
Summary: I will tell you, dear reader, of Alice Amell. She is not the Hero of Ferelden, but her deeds will intertwine with those of John Cousland, and reveal the true reason of why, 33 years ago, Divine Faustine II named our age the Dragon Age.
1. Prologue, part 1 of 3: Barred Doors

CALM

_A Dragon Age tale by Oliver Crown as roleplayed by Alice Oliveira_

You know the tale. As, they called it, the Tale of the Hero of Ferelden. It goes that in 9:31 Dragon, John Cousland, the younger of the two sons of deceased teyrn Bryce Cousland, united Ferelden against both the Blight and the uprisal of teyrn Loghain Mac Tyr. Arl John I of Amaranthine and King Alistair I of Ferelden, by the time the only Grey Warden survivors at the battle of Ostagar, gathered a faithful party of companions, and led them until they built and army worthy of the one lost at Ostagar, dismantled teyrn Loghain's network of influence, having him executed at what's now known as The Crucial Landsmeet in Denerim, and then, even though people say the Blight hadn't trully began, defeated the Archdemon Uthemiel at the Great Battle of Denerim. Arl John Cousland, like great warriors of the ranks of the Grey Wardens before him, dealt the final blow to the Archdemon. But, unlike those very great Grey Warden warriors, he survived. The tale doesn't tell how.

But, I tell you, avid reader, the end of the Blight was just the beginning of events that would change forever not only the nation of Ferelden, but all the land of Thedas. Arl Cousland will indeed play a very important role on the events to come. But more important than him to these events would be the doings of a mage.

Once again, you know that there were six people who could have risen to the ocasion and become the Hero of Ferelden. John Cousland did it, but what of those five others? Duncan, the Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden in 9:30 Dragon, happened to be in Highever, instead of, say, Orzammar, and recruited John Cousland to the ranks of the Grey Wardens. But it did not prevent Badohr Aeducan's rise to proeminence, and even least that of Alice Amell.

As of the others, the three possible Heroes of Ferelden, the oblivion of history swallowed them, most likely. Their feats are not known to us, even if they ever came to do something remarkable. I will tell you, then, of Alice Amell. About how her path intertwined with that of John Cousland, Badohr Aeducan and Dylan Hawke, among many other great figures of Thedas. The path of this particular mage is the one that better shows you the happenings which answer why was it that Faustine II name our age the Dragon Age.

PROLOGUE, PART 1 - BARRED DOORS

So I take you back to Kinloch Hold, the famed tower of the Circle of Magi of Ferelden, in the year of 9:30 Dragon. To the day where, recently after the battle of Ostagar, John Cousland and his party reached the shores of Lake Calenhad seeking help not only against the Blight, but against the Demon of Redcliffe. This is where his destiny first interlaced with that of Alice Amell.

She couldn't tell exactly how was it that it all begun. She knew only a little of what concerned mages - like her best friend Keili, Alice was more in tune with the templars that watched over them (and she would always say "watch over", in opposition the the more common term "incarcerated") than to her fellow mages. So, whenever the mages were up to something, Alice would be one of the few last to know. Thus she didn't know of the very important meeting Uldred was having with the Senior Enchanters, now that he was back from the fatidic Battle of Ostagar.

I don't know if you would agree with me, reader, but I do find Alice exquisitely beautiful. A rare sight in Ferelden, one can say, given she resembled more an Antivan in looks, with their sharp features, olive skin, big, almond-like, mysterious eyes and slender build. Her eyes bore an exotic reddish-brown tone, and her hair a very dark color, with shades of the darkest gray, but not black, and never brown. She was like a less obvious, more discreet version of Isabela. If Isabela shines like gold, Alice shines like silver and I, for once, always were more found of silver than gold.

Alice had been through her Harrowing about a couple of months ago, right before an unlikely incident where she helped a good friend, Jowan, escape from the Tower. She was a fine woman in her mid twenties, under the influence of Sagitarius and Leo, with a keen aptitude to the Sphere of Spirit. Since she was a little girl, the Fade was always in connection with her, somehow, which is why she was always afraid of studying it too much. Even though she could easily feel the Fade, the dread of demons would always keep her away from delving into its mysteries. She could still hear the voice of the demon she faced in her Harrowing, Mouse, as she called him, saying:

"Remember: true tests never end."

But sometimes, the echoes from the Fade were too loud to be be ignored.

Alice was in the chapel, praying. She was feeling uneasy and worried that day, on edge, alert, taken by an ill feeling that something would go very wrong. She knew there was something in The Other Side going on, but she was too scared to try to look. The arched, angled brows were furrowed close, and at each little sound she would turn around, startled. The air was heavy and damp and, even if the cold stone walls of Kinloch Hold felt even colder that night, her forehead was dotted with little drops of sweat. She felt like warning the Templars. Warn Cullen. But what to tell them? That she had a bad feeling? They had busy lives, and she dared not bother them with what she considered a frivolity, even if a strong, terrifying one.

It was then the the Circle Broke.

The first she heard was the shriek, a sharp, high pitched shriek, as if a huge reptile had its spine torn apart in slow cruelty. She darted out of the chapel, looking around to try and find a living soul, but, except for the statues of Andraste (who, mind you, reader, looked a hell lot like Alice), she found no one. Not even in the corridors. Then, she felt the swing of Mana, the pulls in the ethereal thread that constitutes reality. Powerful magic was being executed somewhere in the tower, more strongly and more rapidly than she had ever seen. What could it mean, Alice asked herself, as she ran through the broad, circular hall of Kinloch Hold. Finally, she reached the stairs which would take her one story up. Usually, templars would keep guard, a pair of them, on these doors. But they were not there. The door was wide open, and the waves of Mana, something so subtle she wouldn't feel most of the time, was now so strong she needed to reach for a wall not to fall. Finally, sounds of armored steps, running, came from the stairs ahead of her.

Alice could not believe her eyes. You see, she always thought the templars were fierce warriors who would boldly face any challenge any mage presented. But now, the very two templars who should guard that door came running, desperately, and even through the thin line of their helmets, Alice could see their eyes were open in wide, ample terror.

"Run! Alice, run for your life!" Was what one of them shouted, and I can't remember his name. Not that it matters, anyway. As soon as he said it, he triped and fumbled down the stairs, while the other one didn't even hesitate and kept running like his life depended on it. Well, it did, right? Back to the fallen templar and the awestruck Alice, we would see that rolling down the stairs in heavy armor was not a good thing. The weight of the armor took the templar's leg to one side, his body to the other, a loud crack was heard, and when he finally stopped, said leg was in such a fashion extended on the floor, that no weak stomach should try and behold it.

But Alice's stomach was strong, at least to the sight of gore, that is, and she promptly went and kneeled next to the fallen templar who cried and shouted in pain. She knew not what they were running from, but she knew that, if running was needed, this templar ought to be brought back to running conditions. Thus, Alice spread her hands slightly over the crying templar's leg, and when she focused in the magic to be performed, another sharp, high pitched hiss was heard, but this time, it managed to hurt the mage's ears, and rendered the templar in fetal position, covering his ears in sheer agony. Alice rose her eyes to the door on the stairs, and comming down from it was a... Thing!

You think you know what the sight of an abomination is, reader, and you are wrong. One never appeared in front of you, the very portrait of the derangement imposed on the mage's mind, the very image of the struggle for control that was won by the demon now dwelling in what was once a human body. And like you, Alice thought she knew what to expect when faced with an abomination. The drawings, specially those of Tevinter books, were very detailed and realistic. But no, she wasn't ready. Her whole body froze, even as her ears felt like bleeding any moment. Her big eyes were open in wide terror, and, simply, she could not move. The thing, the undescribable monster, more slithered than walked in her direction, leaving an ooze the color of spilled body fat on it's wake. There were holes resembling mouths on the top of the mass of leather and skin and scales, mixed with shiny balls that resembles eyes. Some of these mouths grinned as the thing approached Alice and the fallen templar, when, suddenly, it flew past Alice and against the wall next to her.

The next one to come from the door on the stairs was Wynne, followed by Keili and Kenon, all with that terrified expression on their faces that are to be expected of people who find themselves suddenly fighting for their lives and have no idea what's going on. Alice too had one of those on her face. She wanted to ask Wynne what was going on, but still her body was frozen. Alice only managed to move when she realized the abomination was merely five feet from her, getting back on its... Feet? Only then she ran towards the other mages, but hesitating, worried about the templar on the floor, who was even closer to the abomination than her.

"Keili, Kenon, supressing flow! Cover me as I rescue the templar!" You see, Wynne said the name of the templar. I just don't happen to remember it!

Anyway, Keili and Kenon both produced their staffs and overcame the abomination with a gush of bolts of lightning and fire, respectively. The abomination struggled to stand once more, but even as it managed to do so, it seemed that the attacks of the mages prevented it from doing any more than that. The thing was pressed against the wall, and while it kept that way, Wynne knelt next to the templar and placed her hands over him. Too late. The man was bleeding out of his helmet, and beneath the breast plate, his chest no longer moved. Maybe he was not dead yet, but the abomination left no time for Wynne to try. It took the templar by the hand with one of its limbs, and used it as a shield against the attacks of Keili and Kenon.

It was than that Alice finally snapped and with a gnarl (seriously, she gnarled) she too produced her staff and joined the other mages, lauching a bolt of lightning that much surpassed that of Kenon. The abomination, who was already hurt, fell, and at once, as if synchronized, the four mages, Wynne included, turned their spells to fire, finally burning the monster to a point where the combustion took on it's own. The monster, angered and now truly hurt, started stomping and raging out of control.

"Alice, Keili, Kenon, run! Don't stand there watching, we must flee the tower!" said Wynne, motioning the younger mages to run, while they all nodded and ran, but not as fast as they could, since neither of them wanted to leave Wynne behind. She ran well for her age, but not as fast as three other mages could. The sounds of fighting were all over the place now, and as they passed by the chapel were Alice was before, she felt terror to see three mages willingly topple one of the statues of Andraste. She halted, looking angrily at that, about to go and make them pay, when Wynne touched her shoulder: "Alice, don't! We don't have time, the Tower is being overflowed by abominations! We must flee while it's time!"

"But Wynne!" said Alice, in her sweet, even while angered, voice. "Those are not mages of the Circle they... I think they're Maleficar!"

"Yes, but we cannot stop them! There are dozens of abominations on the loose, and I need your help to save the children on the floor below!"

Children. It was a week spot for Alice, such as was any of Wynne's pleas. Even as an apprentice she liked to help the Enchanters teach them. Alice loved children, and it moved her to know that the children needed to be saved. So, the four of them moved down below.

As we know now, reader, the menaces were gathered around the Harrowing Chamber, thus making the group's descent to the lower floors less perilous than the way until there had been. They found Petra with most of the Children, and together, all of them moved to the first floor. Joy and hope filled them all as they saw The Great Doors of the Circle of Magi, and ran towards it. Only to find it closed.

They shouted and banged against the door. Magic was useless. That door was made to keep the mages inside if needed be, and it fulfilled its purpose quite well, much to the escapees dismay. Alice placed both her hands against the darkned thick wood, and cried: "Is there anybody there? Please, can anybody hear us?"

Gregoir's voice answered: "Alice? Alice, is that you?"

It is important that I update you regarding important details of Alice's life, reader. As I said before, Alice was more in tune with the templars than with the mages. She was a Loyalist, a Chantry apologist, yearning to be striped of the curse of magic, and thus, the Knight-Commander's favorite. She was his insight into the younger mages, his eyes and more than a few times, his arm. Very few were the mages that actually liked Alice. Two of them, Anders and Jowan, had escaped the Tower, the former against her attempts to avert him, the later with her help. Wynne was very much fond of her and, of course, such was Keili. Finally, Niall, always avoiding getting involved in religious matters went along well with both the girls who believed way too much in the Chantry's preaching.

But the bond between Alice and Gregoir went further than mere afinity. He was the one Alice looked for a paternal figure and, deprived of a family of his own, Gregoir was reciprocal, and cared for Alice as a daughter. So, you can imagine, how hard it was for the Knight-Commander to say his next words: "I... I can't know for sure if you are Alice. I am sorry. I... I really am. The doors remain barred."

Alice was shocked, but she said no more. Slowly, very slowly, she stepped away from the doors, nodding in an almost imperceptible manner. Of course Gregoir couldn't open the doors. In his place, she would do the same, and she smiled a sad smile when she realized she was proud of him. She would expect nothing else from a true servant of the Maker. So, her fate was sealed. To wait and die, and take with her as many abominations as she could. She kept to herself, though, what Gregoir told her. She didn't want to others to feel desperate. They would fight better with hope of survival. Alice, she would fight better knowing they would soon be next to the Maker, finally, and present to him the biggest amount of abomination's lives she could.


	2. Prologue, p2 of 3: The Hero of Ferelden

PROLOGUE, PART 2 - THE HERO OF FERELDEN

And thus, three days passed. Abominations appeared on the lower chambers too, but few enough for Keili, Kenon, Petra and Alice to deal with. Wynne, she was focused, as we all know, on keeping the barrier which held the abominations from the other levels of the tower at bay. The children helped as they could, which was not much, after all. The younger mages, they, time and again, renewed Wynne's energy magically, but it was only a matter of time until their own energy would be exhausted. Alice loved those children and Wynne toO much not to help them. So, she decided she would stay with them instead of returning to the upper floors and go on a suicide mission. By the end of the second day, they heard the Great Doors open and close right after. All rejoiced as they heard the armored steps that came in their direction. Surely, the templars came for their rescue! Even Alice felt relieved, sure that she would see Gregoir, leading the warriors of the Maker. And, O Maker, show she hoped that Cullen would be with them! All this time, Alice prayed and prayed that Cullen was on the other side of the Great Doors with Gregoir.

But it wasn't the templars who came. Those who came were the ones who would soon change much of what was then known and taken for granted in Thedas. The group of mages saw John Cousland, followed by Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana, Sten and Thorand, John's legendary mabari warhound.

Well, I take it that you are already familiar with much of the party who joined the mages on the other side of the Great Doors, reader, as much as with the conversations that followed between the party leaders, John and Wynne. But I'm pretty sure you don't know the details of what exactly happened, thus, it is important that I explain how exactly did the conversation go.

First things first: John Cousland, as we all know, fled Highever when his family was betrayed and slaughtered by the usurper arl Rendon Howe, and traveled to Ostagar with (Maker rest his soul) the Grey Warden Duncan, where he met Alistair. Only survivors of the onslaught that followed, timely rescued by Flemeth, THE Flemeth, they went north, to Lothering, followed now by Morrigan, where, besides sending an ill hearted merchant away and killing road bandits, John gave a lost boy a whole silver, sent a message to teyrn Loghain through one the teyrn's men, and brought Sten and Leliana to his party. Also, he gave a little elf girl her pet lamb back, and a whole sum of five gold. We'll return to John's weak spot for elves later in this Tale.

You may think of him as a paragon of virtue and the apex of virility and masculinity. Well, as most things go, reality falls a little short from myth. John was around his mid twenties, and while he bore the physique of man who grew accustomed to wear thick armor and wield heavy blades (you see, the blades he likes to use even today are so heavy that can only be properly wielded by using both hands). He was not as tall as Alistair, and was considerably shorter than Sten, not counting the Qunari's horns. His face bore still some roundness from youth, and will most likely bear it until the end of his days. His hair, with the first signs of baldness over each temper, was of a color that was too dark to be blond, too light to be brown, too brown to be ginger. He had been red haired while a child, and now, the only copper tones left were the ones on his well trimmed beard. But his eyes, since he were born were of this blueish green, or greenish blue, whatever the reader fancies.

So, after Lothering, they went to Redcliffe, hoping to find support from arl Eamon. And, the Tale continues: John and his party help bann Teagan defend Redcliffe village, they go through the mill's secret passage and enter the castle, battle the hordes of the undead, and finally find Connor possessed by a demon. Much to Sten and Morrigan's demise, John decides to go to the Circle of Magi and seek help to free the boy without killing him. Also, be noted, John had, as a boy, a little crush on arlessa Isolde. So, how to deny her the chance to keep her son alive? Even at that time John still hoped she could decide to, maybe, thank him with a passionate kiss. You see, reader, his relationship with Leliana was still blossoming, and he still didn't know the Orlesian former bard would turn to be his future wife, despite John's weak spot for elves and, even if she were married and older than him, arlessa Isolde.

Enough of John, now. This tale I tell you, while it involves a lot of him, is about Alice, and I only came this far in telling what John did by the time he reached the Circle so you can understand where this tale interlaced with that of the Hero of Ferelden.

So, John's party arrives at the room where Wynne, Alice, Keili, Petra and Kenon are holding back bravely, trying their best to keep the children safe.

"Who are you people? Halt, and announce yourselves!" Alice asked, furrowing her brow and holding her staff in a menacing stance ahead of her. Now, this is a place the tale of the Hero of Ferelden doesn't keep to the truth. Wynne was tired and busy keeping the barrier up, and if she talked to any other person, she would loose her focus and the barrier would be gone. Another thing to point is that John's party didn't look like help. Morrigan was there, with her yellow eyes, weird and exposing clothing, and a staff that looked like taken from a darkspawn. Also, Alice had never seen a Qunari before, and for her, at that moment, Sten looked like yet another abomination.

It was John who answered, in a peacing tone, lowerign his sword (and the whole party had their weapons drawn when they arrived, which added to their unfriendliness) as he spoke: "We are not enemies. I am John Cousland, of the Grey Wardens, teyrn of Highever and we are here to help you." Alice narrowed her eyes as if that truth was too plainly good to believe, and John added: "Knigh-Commander Gregoir allowed us in. We know what's going on here, and we want to go and search for the First Enchanter."

The countenance of the other mages brightened at this words, and even Wynne, who were listening, tried to look over her shoulders to see who were these people who came with such good intentions. And like Alice, she didn't like when she saw that Morrigan and Sten looked like they thought John's word to be but gibberish. Alice said: "We are most likely all you will find here. It's been days, I don't know how much, exactly, since the attack on the Tower begun." She made a pause, and the weight of reality sank her shoulders down. The mage lowered her staff and let a sad sigh out, as her eyes met the ground. "There was nothing we could do. I believe... I believe everyone inside are either dead, or became abominations."

John's answer was swift: "We won't know if we don't go and look for ourselves. Besides, the Knight-Commander told me that if I don't bring the First Enchanter himself, he'll call for the Right of Annulment. So..."

Alice interrupted John, with wide eyes as a flicker of hope shone in them. The same flicker shone too in Keili's eyes, and on the eyes of the other mages. But for Wynne, Petra and Kenon, the flicker was of sheer terror. "They haven't called for it already? What are they waiting for?"

The reaction in John's party was one and the same: astonishment at the fact that a mage agreed, and indeed wished for the Right of Annulment.

"I can't believe it!" Morrigan said, looking at Alice in a mixture of disgust and awe. "Not only they submit theirselves to the Chantry's encagement, this one actually wishes for it!" And with that, she laughed out loud, turning her back and touching John's shoulder plate. "Come on, John. Leave them to their fate. If the mages of Circle are like that, they'll be more of a bother than of help against the Blight."

John touched Morrigan's hand on his shoulder lightly, telling her to wait. His eyes were now fixed on Alice's, but it was Wynne who, panting, spoke: "Alice! Don't say such a thing! There may be survivors, and if anyone is powerful enough of a mage to stand this cruel test that has befallen us all, this person is Irving!" She then closed her eyes shut, and suddenly the barrier was gone. Petra and Kenon ran to help her stand, but Wynne used her staff for support, and did it on her own, thanking them with a kind gaze. Alice looked at Wynne with worry, and walked fast towards the older mage to make sure she was alright. In fact, all the mages but Morrigan did. The latter, she looked at it with a curious gaze, that was only noticed by John and Alice. Alice didn't pay much heed, but that look of confused feelings Morrigan gave to the gathering of mages around Wynne called John's attention.

"I am fine, dears, I am fine. Tired, but your magic kept me well and, as far as I can say, rested. Thank you, thank you all." Wynne, then, rose her gaze past her fellow mages and looked at John. "Very well, Grey Warden. I am glad you came, and that you're willing to help the Circle. But I am going with you."

Once again, all people from John's party, all but Sten, were staring in bewilderment. She was an old lady, maybe even a powerful mage, but would she stand the test of battle? Even today, readers, I tell you, it's hard for me to believe that Wynne had that much inside her. It was Alistair who spoke: "Please, don't take us bad, lady, but... You're old. You should stay here, and send some of the younger ones with us, if you wish to help."

"Wynne, please!" Alice said, walking in between the two groups. "Even we can't tell maleficarum from sight. We saw blood mages earlier, and they're still inside! They may have corrupted the survivors, if there are any. It's too risky, to save the Circle and have blood mages amongst us, look what they did already! The Maker doesn't approve of this!"

Wynne answered: "And how can you know what the Maker does or doesn't approve, child? Let it be a test. If it is the Maker's will, we will succeed and bring Irving here."

Morrigan was going to say something but John did it before her: "This is not about the Maker, or even blood mages. In fact, the templars had it comming, for keeping you here against your own will. I'll save whoever I can. I don't care if they do their magic with mana or with blood." Even Wynne was shocked at John's words, but, she thought, was she to look a gift horse in the mouth?

"You can't! I won't let..." Alice begun, but with a tender hand to Alice's shoulder, Wynne continued the younger mage's sentence: "...you won't let nothing happen to the children. The barrier is down, and I need the four of you to fight back whatever comes from it. If we kill all abominations on our path, few will be the ones missed that will be able to come down for you."

Alice wanted to protest, but how could she? Wynne had something within her, something that gave her words both authority and comfort. So Alice simply added: "Then at least let me come with you, Wynne. Keili, Petra and Kenon, they can take care of the children. It's a serious threat you are about to face, another able hand will surely help."

Wynne seemed to be moved by this. After all, Alice was indeed great at dealing with magic, inspite of the fact that it was a gift she wished to get rid of, and the more the better, after all. But it was John who interfered, stepping ahead of both the groups and leaning slightly forward, eye brows seekign each other as his eyes scanned the hall ahead of them. There was a brief moment of silence as he turned to Alice. "No." said he, sharply. "Morrigan and Sten may think the mages deserve this fate, but they are not so... Keen in enforcing it. I won't have a mage under my leadership who is more worried in following the words of the Maker than my own orders."

Alice was left wordless, staring at John with a horrified expression. Did he just say his orders were more important than that of the Maker? What kind of man was he, after all? She didn't even notice the apologetic smile that both Alistair and Leliana were giving her, and she decided that she wouldn't let him inside the Tower. Maybe he would even help the Maleficar! But Wynne, once again Wynne, stepped in front of her, placing both hands on Alice's shoulders. "Please, please Alice. This is the only chance we have. The Grey Wardens are like that, you know, they are... pragmatical." These last words were spoken in but a whisper, and Wynne continued: "He is a military man, don't take his words by the letter. Now. I leave you in charge of those in here. Take care of any survivors we send your way, ok?"

"No!" Alice said, and Wynne looked at her like a mother looks at a daughter who shouldn't be arguing with her. Incredibly, that made Alice stop. Wynne had that kind of power over her. The older mage added: "You and I are the only ones here who know healing magic, and I am going with them. It's important that you stay here and help the survivors we send. They'll likely be in pretty bad shape. Can I trust you to do this for me?"

Alice's eyes were filled with worry and anger. Worry for Wynne, the old, carrying, tender Wynne, and anger towards the Grey Warden who thought he should not heed the Maker's holy Word while carrying his duty. She wished for his defeat, she wished for him to die the death a heathen deserved. So, she nodded, finally giving up, and said: "Very well. I'll stay here and help the others. But please, Wynne: don't go further than you're capable of. I don't want to see you die, not even at the hands of the templars."

Wynne smiled softly and brought Alice's head down, laying a tender kiss on the girl's forehead. At the same time, John whistled a short, sharp whistle, and Thorand approached him, cocking his head to the side as he waited for his master's words. The Grey Warden knelt next to the hound and patted his head, making a little mess of the short fur there. "Now, good boy. I want you to stay here and help Alice defend these people, ok? Until I return, you will obey her orders, and protect the ones in this room. Understood, Thorand?" The dog barked a loud, almost goofy bark, circled John two times, and then went to Alice, looking up at her and awaiting for her orders.

He was an impressive beast. On his for legs, he was as tall as Alice's breasts, and his muscles were clearly seen beneath his coat of short brown fur. Alice beheld that magnificent animal and slowly extended her hands towards him. You must know Alice loves animals, and dogs more than anything. Now, a legitimate Mabari stood in front of her, and she was completely hypnotized by him. Without meaning, John did the very thing that would keep Alice distracted enough not to argue. She touched Thorand's head, and at that, he open his big mouth and let his tongue hang, just smiling that big dog grin we all love so much. If you don't, reader, please, put this down and go away. You don't deserve to live if you don't like dogs. Who doesn't like dogs, anyway? Alice, she sure did, and she did as she was told: she used Thorand to distract the children there.

Yes. That huge, massive, killer beast was now playing like a happy beagle with the children scattered there. She didn't even notice when the party went upstairs to do the fighting you're well aware of. John had some choices to make up there, two were such that would have Alice try and take his life if she knew what he were doing. And she would not be aware of what was going on the floors above, had it not been for her tempter. The demon who, since her Harrowing, had hunted her dreams and produced offerings she never accepted. He was just starting to show himself. But now, he had an unique opportunity to show himself before her. Uldred had torn the Veil open. Even the lesser spirits traveled freely from one side of the Veil to the other. And so, he took a step to our side.


	3. Prologue, part 3 of 3: Pride and Deceit

PROLOGUE, PART 3 - PRIDE AND DECEIT

Some hours had passed since Wynne and John's party had left, and Alice was watching the kids take turns as they rode Thorand. She didn't notice when a slow mist started to cover the floor, until the floor was completely hidden beneath a ominous fog. Alice looked around, and realized that everyone, even Thorand, was asleep, barely visible under the mist blanket. She looked around frightened, and produced her staff, trying to see where the menace would come from. "Show yourself! Whoever you are!" said she, feeling the weight of failure beggining to creep down her shoulders.

"I am Barthandelus." Said the hoarse, low male voice. In the white of the mist, a white figure started to show. An old man, dressed in white, with long, long white hair and long, long white beard. He supported his weight on a black, beautiful staff, that was as Kinloch Hold itself, made of a dark stone with barely visible white veins. And his words were enough to send chills up and down her spine. For the first time, she recognized the voice, the voice of her Harrowing, the voice which once said: "True tests never end." Until that very moment, Alice thought some random demons had tempted her, as it happened with other mages. But now she realized that, since her Harrowing, it had always been one: the spirit ahead of her, who seemed not a monster, but an old man. And if it was possible, he seemed more frightening as that old man than he would if he looked like most of the other Pride Demons.

Silence crept over the room as slow steps brought him closer to Alice, who waited with her staff pointed at him, a menace he didn't seem to worry about. She wouldn't allow him to came any closer. She took a step back, raised her staff above her head, and felt her own body ressonate with the fabric of reality. She knew how to move the threads around, and beckon lightning from the sky. That's what she would do. As Alice's staff pointed up, she assumed the proper position, and shouted the Words of Authority that would make lightning bow to her will, and descend upon the demon, even if from the ceiling of the tower. She banged her staff's pommel on the ground, and shouted:

"_DE IOVIS FULMINA MITTERE IN TERRAM_!"

Alice closed her eyes, and her ears went momentarily deaf with the sound of Thunder. Even with her eyes shut she felt the light blind her. It was only slowly that her senses of sight and hearing returned properly, first blurs and echoes. Until she finally saw, only a feet from her, the dreadful sight of Barthandelus' white eyes, locked with hers, unnafected by the lightning that she beckoned over him.

"That was a remarkable spell, Alice." said he, with the slightest turn to the corner of his thin, pale lips. But his voice... His voice filled her head, and even hoarse and soft, it felt powerful like the very Thunder beckoned. "You show promisse. But you have a long way to go before you can do me any harm."

Alice just stared at him, panting, fear crawling inside her. But if one word could be used to describe Alice, this word, more than 'beautiful', would be 'brave'. She held on, sustaining his overwhelming gaze, not avoiding her eyes from his. She said nothing. She knew that, if she spoke, she would sob, she would stutter, and she would show him all the fear she felt. No. She just kept the silence, waiting for the demon to say whatever he had to say. And thus he spoke: "And why would you want to do me harm, anyway? I am here not to tempt you, not tonight, Alice. I am here to make you a favor. A simple favor, so you will see that I mean no harm to be done to you." That little crook to his lips grew into the smile a tiger smiles before devouring its prey.

Barthandelus turned his back to Alice and pointed at the door as he spoke: "I assume you would like to see, Alice, what the Grey Warden is doing right now. It is a lesson I want you to learn, and it is a piece of knowledge that I am sure you will find useful. Maybe it will settle down the wish you had of being a Grey Warden yourself?"

Alice had never told it to anyone. When, years before, she was denied being turned into a Tranquil, she decided she would, if she could, become a Grey Warden. Give her magic a proper use, do some good with the curse she bore. But she never told it to anyone, not even Keili, not even Cullen! Before she could speak, she saw herself in a room, where a templar looked bewitched ahead of him, not seeing that John Cousland's party stood right ahead. And behind the templar, caressing his brown locks of hair, was which Alice knew to be a Desire Demon. The demon was looking anxiously at the party, who argued amongst themselves.

"No, John, you can't do it! You can't possibly allow the demon to go away with the templar!" said Alistair, barely shouting, covered in blood (except for the mages and Leliana - who used a long bow - everyone was dripping blood, in fact), pointing at the demon and the templar.

"Alitair is right! To allow this to go... It's a monstrosity!" said Wynne.

John looked at the both of them, and at Leliana, that, even though silent, agreed with Alistair and Wynne with her deep blue eyes. The Warden sighed and shook his head, as if the answer was plain and obvious and they failed to see it. He Looked back at the possessed templar and then back at his party, and said: "This templar will die anyway. We either fight the demon, who will no doubt send the templar against us and make us kill him, or we let the demon be, and the templar dies a bissful death. He won't live anyway, so why deny him that?"

Horror still struck the faces of Leliana, Alistair and Wynne, but slowly, it started to turn into doubt and, soon, conformation. Morrigan smiled and nodded in approval, approaching John, and whispering loud enough for the others to listen: "It's good to see that some people here have reason." Sten followed right after, not minding at all to have his words heard, as was usual of the horned giant: "Indeed. Fighting the demon would be a waste of time. You chose wisely, Warden."

So, they all turned their backs and left the room, John the last of them. Thus, the party did not see what Alice saw: the moment where John looked back at the demon, and the entity moved her lips saying "thank you", and John smiled kindly, almost as if he had nothing at all against the monstrosity. Was what he did wrong? Would you, in his place, have killed the templar instead, reader? Alice thought so, and she was horrified not only at what John Cousland did, but even more at his kind smile at the spiritual beast who took hold of the templar.

It was then that Alice was back again at the misty hall with the sleeping mages (and dog) and the terrible Pride Demon who called himself Barthandelus. He said: "I hope, one day, you learn this lesson, Alice. It will be important in your path, and I would hate to see it go to waste."

"What lesson?" hissed she, the anger inside her starting to surpass the fear she felt in beholding the cold eyes of Barthandelus. "That John desecrates that which all the Grey Wardens stand for? That he consorts with demons as would any filthy blood mage? No!" she exclaimed, finally gathering the courage and walking her way past Barthandelus and towards that door that would lead her after John Cousland's path. "I cannot, I will not allow this to happen!"

As Alice did so, Barthandelus stood still, just following Alice with the movement of his eyes, and staring ahead once he could no longer see her. "Then," said he "you will be terrified at yet another one of John Cousland's... liberalities. I bid you farewall, Alice Amell."

As Alice walked away, she noticed the fog was no more, and the rustling of pawns on the rocky floor that ran towards her. She turned to see Thorand comming in her direction, barking a couple of loud barks to call her attention. She stopped and smiled at the dog, cursing the fate that led him to have such an ill intentioned master. "Hey, boy!" said she, as she patted the dog's head and crouched to look at him. "I need to follow the others. You're a strong dog, so I ask you, take care of the children, will you? Help them if they need."

Thorand simply barked once more an ran back the way he'd came. For a moment, Alice stayed there, stunned at the dog's intelligence. It was as if he understood all the words she spoke, and it was dazzling. How she wished she could own one of these dogs, or at least have one of them around. But for now, other things had more importance. Alice stood, took a deep breath, and looked towards to darkened path ahead of her. The tower was dark, and thus she simply whispered "_Fiat Lux_" and her staff's head shone with a pale yellow light that lit the path ahead of her. And on she went. What would be the other of John's liberalities?

But one thing Alice had to confess: John Cousland's party was remarkable. They succeeded where the templars have failed, and she was amazed to see corpse after corpse of abominations, trail after trail of defeated demons. As I said before, Alice had a keen connection to the Fade which she dreaded to explore, still, sometimes it was too strong for her to ignore. She could feel that the demons were cowarding, they were retreating to the upper most floor of the tower, the Harrowing Chamber, where, she was sure now, the true source of all that evil dwelt. She doubted she would be able to stop them, but she had to do something. Maybe Wynne would help her? She also thought on counting on the help of those who seemed to be less atuned with John's actions, the blond man and the red haired woman. Maybe, the four of them could take out John, Morrigan and Sten.

It was with these thoughts, as Alice scanned the inside of a room, that she heard hurried, stealthy steps comming from the hall. She went quickly to the door and, when under the threshold, peeked down the corridor to see a limping form try to run as fast as it could, hurt as it was. "Halt there!" said Alice, but whoever the person was, and it was a woman, she did not stop. Just looked over her shoulder and kept going, trying to go even faster now. "Halt, I said!" Alice shouted, but the woman was almost at the door which would lead to the lower floor.

Alice couldn't remember when it was the last time she conjured such powerful spells with such short time between them. But whoever this woman was, she was going to stop. Alice once more raised her staff, and felt the air around it connect her with the muscle spasms that made the other woman move. She closed her eyes and, when opening it, pointed the staff towards the woman pronouncing the Words of Authority which would cease and lock all the muscles in woman's body, save those needed for breathing and speaking: "_In statuam lapidis tu!_" And suddenly, the woman halted. She whimpered and sobbed when she realized she was at Alice's mercy, and even under the influence of the spell, her body shook in fear.

Alice approached this woman in slow steps, eyes narrowed at the shadowy figure who revealed itself when the pale light of Alice's staff poured over her. It was not a mage from the Tower. Alice had no idea who she was, which served only to raise Alice's mistrust towards the woman. Alice asked: "Who are you? What on the Maker's name are you doing here?"

The woman sobbed once more and said: "Please... Please, I mean you no harm. I'm just on my way out of the Tower, and..." She stopped speaking when she saw Alice's narrowed eyes widen in what was the clear picture of hate. She remembered then. The woman now locked under her spell was one of the blood mages she saw toppling the statue of Andraste. Alice said slowly, hissing, between clinched teeth: "H-How did you escape the Grey Warden's party?"

"He let me go... He is a good man, I promised him I would repent and-" The woman could speak no more. Alice rose her left hand with her fingers curled like claws, and the hate in her eyes became evident and terrifying to the blood mage. So, this was the other choice Barthandelus mentioned. John Cousland not only allowed the demon possessing the templar to go free. He also did the same to the blood mage. But no. Alice would not allow such heretic actions to simply happen. Slowly, she began closing her hand, and as fingers approached each other, the blood mage's body started to crumble upon itself. When Alice's hand balled into a fist, blood poured out of the other woman's every oriffice bigger than a pore, and acking, she fell on the floor, lifeless.

Alice enjoyed the feeling.

She enjoyed the feeling of crushing the body of a blood mage to the point that, mind the irony, the very blood gushed out of her body. The mage took a step closer to the corpse by her feet, and gazed upon it with disgust and superiority. She had never killed anyone prior to that moment. And the feeling, Alice thought, was good. Righteous killing, standing before the corrupt and wicked and not faltering. She, Alice told herself, had just acted as a Champion of the Just.

The sight of that woman, falling there, every single bone in her body broken, in a pool of blood, was almost hypnotizing Alice. On the other side of the Veil, Barthandelus watched. He reveled as the pride inside the young woman rose to heights they never reached before, and he basked on that feeling. It was going to be a lovely hunt. A hunt like the ones which only present themselves every other century. But now, it was time that Alice snaped out of that bloody trance.

Back to the physical realm, the pull of Mana began once again, and very, very strong, stronger than at any moment since the breaking of the Circle began. As you may imagine, reader, John had reached by now the Harrowing Chamber and was engaging Uldred in battle. A few stories down, Alice rushed up the stairs, no longer minding to carefully inspect the rooms of the tower. She wanted to reach John Cousland, and stop him from doing whatever it was his intention of doing. The Circle could not be saved. The dead woman was proof of that. John would leave blood mages to live, and so, how could anyone trust this man to do what is right, to spare only the righteous?

Now, reader, you would have known of Alice in the Tale of the Hero of Ferelden if she hadn't met Cullen in the room before the Harrowing Chamber. Only the sight of him could have stopped Alice in her resolve to go and attack the Grey Warden, send him away and... Yes, of course, why not, kill him. But meet Cullen she did, and this made her halt her hurried steps and gaze in awe as she saw him alive, caged inside a barrier, but alive!

The sight of Alice, too, would be a balm to Cullen's suffering, if he were not expecting that she would be used as an illusion to break his will. So, as soon as Alice showed herself, Cullen barely lept to the opposite wall, clinging to it like a bug who wants to crawl away, but finds himself suddenly rendered unable to crawl on walls. "Get away from me!" said he "You will not tempt me, not even with my dearest infatuation! No, begone, demon!"

Alice looked at him for a moment, and smiled. She wouldn't expect nothing else from him. No, no demon would ever be able to possess him, to seize control of the most righteous of minds. Thus, Alice approached the barrier, trying in vain to dispel it, and found out it was possible to touch it. "Cullen, it's fine. It's me, I'm no demon. Remember what I told you? Close your eyes, beckon the Maker and the holy prophetess Andraste, send the demon away. I am still here."

Cullen opened his eyes, blinked, and, slowly, he approached the barrier, touching it on the opposite side of Alice's hand. They both looked at the hands that didn't touch because of the barrier in between, and smiled kindly at each other. "I am proud of you, Cullen. You stood your ground. Your faith in unshakable." To what he answered: "I'm so glad to see you alive Alice but... But... Those other people! They want to save the mages held in the Harrowing Chamber! You, and only, Alice, would spend so much time with them and do not give in! Wynne, and the Grey Warden, they want to let the other mages live!"

Alice nodded in resignation at that. She already knew it was their plan, but how much of the mages left alive would indeed be maleficar? "We need to talk to Gregoir, Cullen. Maybe, the both of us can-" A huge explosion was heard inside the Harrowing Chamber, and the whole tower shook. Alice went on: "Maybe the both of us can convince him to call for the Right of Anullment even if John is successful in saving the First Enchanter."

"Yes", answered Cullen "Yes, let's do that. But please, stay here, don't go in there. I can't stand to see you-"

Alice's hand changed place, and touched the barrier as if she was hushing Cullen with a touch to his lips. What is curious, you see, is that all this barrier interrupted touching would never happen were it not there. All this time, since Alice became a woman of notice and kindled Cullen's feelings and desires, they would always refrain from any display of affection or action that could lead into temptation. Alice refused to be Cullen's downfall, Cullen refused to allow his weakness to doom Alice. After all, as far as I am concerned, templars are celibatary, despite what some Orlesian named Fereldan she-soldiers might say.

"You hang in there, Champion. I will be right back."

Under Cullen's protests and punches against the barrier, Alice went up the stairs and entered the Harrowing Chamber.

What follows now you are well aware, reader. The Circle was restored, inspite of Alice's and Cullen's ardent protests, and Alice even accused John of allowing a blood mage to escape, when in the presence of the Knight-Commander. But John did save a lot of people, and it spoke louder than Alice's and Cullen's voice. Besides, John had, let us say, a much stronger warrior band, plus some very grateful mages on his side. There was nothing Alice and Cullen, or even Gregoir, for that matter, could do.

Oh! One curious part was when Alice accused Morrigan of being an apostate, that she should stay in the Circle instead of being allowed to wander free from templar supervision. That was when John eyed Allistair and told everyone that Morrigan was conscripted, much to Alice's anger. As I told you before, she had dreamed of being a Grey Warden once, and now, because this apostate was clearly seducing John Cousland with her barely lack of upper body clothing, she got conscripted.

In the end, Wynne walked out with John Cousland's party, while Alice and some other surviving mages were to set for Recliffe in the next morning, so they could help the arl's son, possessed by the Demon of Redcliffe. There, in Redcliffe, Alice kept to herself, under the watch of the templars, and took part in the ritual that sent Morrigan to the Fade to deal with said demon. She understoon that speaking against John Cousland, at that time, in those conditions, was futile. Moreover, two thoughts were constantly keeping her mind busy: first, righteous killing felt good. Was it right to feel that way? Second, if an abomination can be brought back by slaying the demon in the Fade, why were apprentices killed when they failed their Harrowings? It was the first seed of doubt, that would remain enclosed and forgotten inside Alice's mind for a long, long time.


	4. Act I, Chapter 1: Apostate, part 1 of 2

**ACT 1**

**COME OUT, TO A BRAND NEW WORLD**

**Chapter 1**

**APOSTATE**

…And three years went on. Back from Redcliffe, Alice, along with all the other surviving mages, plus the ones sent from other circles, set off to the slow rebuilding of Ferelden's Circle of Magi. Our beautiful olive skinned hero sometimes asked herself what it would have felt to march to war, to take part in the Great Battle of Denerim, to slay darkspawn up and about, to unleash the true power of the curse she bore, the curse of magic. But Gregoir, Knight-Commander Gregoir, forbade her from going. "I need you here, Alice. Right now, with Irving gone to Denerim, you're the only one this tower I truly trust." He told her when she insisted on going. So, she stayed, while most of the others marched to Denerim and helped John Cousland slay the archdemon and make of the Fifth Blight the shorter to ever be.

Now, 9:33 Dragon, Alice was in her mid twenties, and once more alone in that tower which was, once again, filled with mages. But these ones were different. They were not her childhood friends, who had either fled the tower or died in Uldred's uprisal. The only one left of her friends was Keili, the only other one mage in all Kinloch Hold who truly shared Alice's vision of magic, mages and the Chantry. And it was to meet her that Alice went, going all the way to the mage's quarters, where Keili and she shared a bedroom.

Keili too did not go to fight in Denerim, but Gregoir did not need to use an argument to hold her back. Keili, as Alice was aware of, even if she never spoke it out loud, not even to herself, was a great person, but she was somewhat of a coward. No, coward was not the right word Alice wanted. Keili was just a normal person, who dreaded fights and confrontations, and preferred to stay away from other people's business. In another time and place, Keili would be the girl who would grow up, marry the one who their parents would choose, and then obey her husband, bear _his_ children, take care of _his_ home.

And Keili was sitting by her bed, knitting a yellow wool scarf and humming some sweet, background, unimportant tune. She looked up as Alice entered, and smiled softly. "Hey, you. How was gardening? I take it that Carol was ashore and did not give you trouble this time?"

Alice giggled an almost imperceptible giggle at the mention of the most obnoxious of templars, lucky enough to be on the other side of Lake Calenhad when Uldred brought hell to break loose. You and I, we know that Carol was such a pain in the ass that he even got mentioned in the Tale of the Hero of Ferelden. So, imagine how pestering he was to the beauties of the tower, going to them and offering a ride on the boat, or some goods smuggling, in exchange for a kiss, a quick flashing, and so on.

"No," said she, sitting at her own bed, in front of Keili's. "He didn't disturb me this time. I believe he was on the other side of the shore, drinking at the inn." A little pause and she added: "Thank the Maker!" And both friends laughed lively.

"But still, it felt good to go outside a little bit, breath the spring air and collect the herbs I needed."

"You would say that. I can't think of someone in this tower that leaves as often as you do, Alice. In your place, I would be terrified. To be left alone, with no templars."

"Well, no exactly alone, right? Some templars always go with me, even if they do leave me alone most of the times. They know I will not run, anyway. And in the end, I almost always come back with the escapee."

Keili nodded and kept silent for a while. After that, she asked: "How many times were it? How many did you bring back in?"

Alice chuckled at that and crossed both her legs over the comfortable bed, pursing her lips to the side as she thought. "Counting Anders?"

It was now Keili's turn to laugh out loud at Alice's statement, and nodded once more, crossing her legs over the bed as well, with her eyes turned to the scarf. "Yes, yes, counting Anders, you silly!"

"Well," said Alice, failing to hide the pride she felt on that. "out of Ander's seven escapings, I brought him back thrice, and failed to bring him back twice. And then, there were Ivan, Timo and Schuz, who escaped after the whole Blight issue, and Trevor, that one who came from Kirkwall and escaped three days later. So…" she stopped and looked up, counting. "Seven times I went out and brought the apostates back. There were yet three other times when Gregoir sent me on errands. Twice I went to Denerim to bring two young mages to the Circle, and it was I who brought Connor, arl Eamon's son, from Redcliffe, when things settled after the Blight. This makes twelve times, total."

Keili had now forgotten her scarf, and was looking at Alice with widened, amazed eyes. She spoke, tilting her head to a side and looking up, just picturing a world where she was not scared of her own self to dare and try to go out. "I wish I was as brave like you, to go out and see the world. It must feel great. But I won't risk that. It's too dangerous, to be so far away from the templars."

Alice pursed her lips slightly to a side and sighed. See the world, know other places, as Keili said. Be free, be able to make one's own choices, most of the mages would say. Alice looked at Keili and shook her head, saying: "You know, Keili, going out and seeing the world is not the… Rhapsody the apostates and liberalists make it look like. The world out there is hard, pretty hard. Of course, some sights are breath taking, like the village of Redcliffe, for example. When I first beheld it, I held my breath and wished I were no mage, so I could settle there for good, get married have as many children as I could, and grow old, with my family."

"But you see," said Alice "When I speak of having a farm, this means waking up early every day, work the field, be there sun or rain, risk a bad harvest, disease, poverty, crippling…" She made a little pause and went on: "Here in the Circle we have warm fire places for the winter, food, good food, and comfortable beds. We are thought how to read, how to think for ourselves, and there are people to help us when we grow old. Most of the other mages, they don't realize they are complaining about something that every normal person would dream to have. We walk around on our robes, allowed to have our own little private love affairs, and sit while we study."

"Mainly now, that we are accomplished mages", continued Alice, "we can sleep until the time we find best, and go about our own business. The only thing we can't do is leave the tower and resort to blood magic. So, how can I complain about it? How can I not be grateful for it?"

Keili listened all along, nodding sporadically and a short silence lingered after Alice was done talking. "Still." Said Keili, "As far as I am concerned, Ferelden Circle is one of a kind. The mages who came from Kirkwall after the Blight said that, there, they were literally caged, and this not to mention the annulling of Starkhaven's Circle."

Alice shrugged. "Even so, all the more reason for us to be grateful for what we have. We complain so much about the templars, but look at them. I have left the tower more times than most of them. While we go about our business, they remain sanctified (and with that, reader, Alice meant celibate), standing like statues, guarding us from ourselves, under heavy, hot armor, while we wear comfortable robes. Who has more reason to complain? I almost understand Carol."

Keili made a face when Alice mentioned the ferry riding templar, and both the friends laughed out loud. Alice had a point, Keili, thought, and the Maker was indeed a very good and kind god to allow usurpers such as themselves to be sheltered in so fine a manner, and protected and taken care of. Thus, both the women decided it was time for them to go to the Chapel and pray.

On their way, Owain, the tranquil, passed them by, and nodded in a polite agreement, as was his usual. "Hello, Alice. Hello, Keili. I bid you a good day." Alice and Keili replied, and they noticed Owain was dressed for travel, with a filled backpack and sturdy leather boots. It was Alice who asked: "Oh, are you going out to restock the Wonders of Thedas again?"

Owain stopped, looked at Alice, then down the hall, then at Alice again, and then answered: "Yes. The shop needs new products. I am out to deliver them some itens."

"Very well, then." said Alice, "Have a nice trip, Owain." And without longer delay, Owain was on his way. Alice told Keili as they entered the chapel: "The sales must be very good in Denerim. It's the third time in two months that Owain goes there to restock."

It didn't seem weird to Alice that a tranquil would go three times in a month to Denerim at the time. Who payed attention to the tranquils, anyway? They had always been obedient little puppies, who would always do what they were told to by the templars. Why would it be wrong, or even weird at all, for Owain to leave Kinloch Hold?

The rest of the day went as normal as usual. After the praying at the chapel, Alice went on with her duties, tutoring the younger apprentices, those around five years old, into the first basics of magic, and how terribly wrong it were.

First Enchanter Irving did his best to keep Alice away from the youngest. They were the most vulnerable of all apprentices, their minds so susceptible to whatever they were told. But after the Uldred incident, followed by the Great Battle of Denerim, where some more mages died holding the gate and fighting the Archdemon, they were really understaffed. Got it? Under_staff_ed! Well, anyway, nobody else wanted to deal with children. So, this is how Alice became Enchanter Alice.

But today, Alice's mind was somewhere else while she performed her duties. Ever since Uldred's uprisal, Cullen had not been the same. Before, they were almost inseparable. She could still remember the days they used to spend together, she studying while he watched.

So, a quick flashback, as we wander away with Alice's mind to the days before her Harrowing, almost a year before it, when she was worried that her Harrowing would come any day. It was a day like most of the others: late afternoon, Alice alone at the library, while the other apprentices were resting after another tiring day of practices and studies.

"Sometimes, mainly in places of thin Veil, the transference of the mage's mind to the Fade can be in such a fashion that the mage won't even realize. His body falls, unconscious, while, the mage's mind wanders in the Dream Realm. In places where the Veil is particularly thin, the mage may be led into the Fade even with his body. In such perilous cases, it is imperative to…"

"Is it possible to go into the Fade with your own body?" Cullen interrupted, about ten feet away from Alice, fully armored and with the helmet on. If I looked at him at that moment, I would think he was a talking metal statue. But that was how Alice used to study: she would explain to Cullen much of what she read, trying to make it easy for him to understand. Sometimes, it was hard. After all, all the templars were told was to watch the mages, and kill them if they used blood and/or started to morph. Oh, and to have lyrium whenever told to.

So, Alice answered: "Yes, it is, though it is very rare for such a thing to happen. Even here in the tower, it never happened. I was told that only in Tevinter, or in natural circles of flowers or stones, the veil becomes so thin that a person can actually cross _in corpus_ to the other side."

There was a very slight, almost imperceptible movement on the helmet of the metal statue. Alice noted it, though. Cullen avoided making too much questions, and he had already just made one. But Alice saw the little movement, and knew he had something to ask.

"What?"

"No, nothing. You can go on."

"Seriously what is it?" She giggled a little bit and put some hair behind her ear. If a normal man would have trouble resisting the beautiful sight of Alice's cute giggling, how could a man who loved her, a man who had never, in his whole life, touched a woman? So, behind the iron mask, he smiled and said: "Very well. _In corpus_. What does it mean? I noticed that, when you say those… How do you call it? Words of Authority? Yes, well, when you say the Words of Authority, they are all in a weird tongue, that sounds like this '_in_ _corpus_' you just said. Why is that?"

"Oh!" As Alice spoke, she kept her body turned towards the table, even as she looked at him. "It's just that much, I would say, almost all of the magic – spells, routines, rituals – we know are of Tevinter origin. There is what we call the Traditions of Magic, and I know of three of them: the Path of the Elvhenan, the Path of the Wilds, and the Path of Hermes. These Traditions are… Approaches to magic, the way we mages force our will upon reality and change it accordingly."

"The Path of the Elvhenan is how the Dalish elves do magic. Very little is known about it. The Path of the Wilds is..." she hesitated a bit before continuing "…Primitive. Primal, and much of it revolves around blood magic. The Avaar, the Alamari, the Chasind, their mages are examples of mages who follow the Path of the Wilds. And finally, we have the Path of Hermes or, as the original name goes, _Via Hermes_".

"It is the more refined and controlled of the paths, and was written by a Tevinter Magister who left Tevinter and joined Andraste. He was called _Hermes Trimegistus,_ or, in our tongue, Three Times Great Hermes. Even so, some of the terms he used are no longer in vogue. For example, what he calls _Umbra_, we call Fade. What he calls _Vellum_,that is best translated to curtain, we call Veil. There is also a term most non-mages don't know which is _Tellurian_, that refers to the fabric of reality."

Cullen listened like a small boy being told a great tale. Alice made is all so simple, so interesting… He was completely oblivious to the fact that, for him, whatever left Alice's lips would be interesting, and at the same time, she just wanted to keep talking, she loved to talk to him, even if she also liked to listen to his voice.

So, we are back to our days, when Alice just finished her duties and was now going up back to her quarters. Keilei was not back yet, and she stopped under the threshold, touching the wall and thinking. She missed those days with Cullen. They always happened after her classes, before her Harrowing, so why not keep the tradition? Ever since Uldred's uprisal Cullen was distant, cold. She knew that what happened took its toll on him. Maybe she could help? So, decided, she went up the stairs, up to the Templars Quarters, where, pretty much, she was the only mage allowed.

The funny (and disgusting, in my humble author opinion) thing about the Templars Quarters, was that Alice loved the way it smelled: the bitter scent of men who barely bathe and spend most of their days clad in metal. Every time she went inside, she would take a deep breath and feel her insides revolve in desire. It was something she knew she shouldn't do, for it made her feel like desecrating all that she thought holy about Cullen, but she just couldn't avoid it. She loved the smell of man.

So, taking a long breath out to recompose herself, Alice followed through the corridors which looked like a whole other place. The only time most mages would go through the Templars Quarters would be on their way up to the Harrowing Chamber. Alice, she would just come and go whenever she felt like. She looked around for a little bit, not finding Cullen anywhere. Just when she was on her way back, she saw him coming on her direction, fists balled at his sides, and a look on his eyes she couldn't tell if angry or set on determination, holding his helmet under an arm.

"Cullen, is everything all right? What is-"

"Knight-Lieutenant Cullen, what are you waiting for?" It was Knight-Commander Gregoir's voice, who stood on the threshold of the door to his office, half inside, half outside, arms crossed and a very non-friendly look on his face. Cullen looked at Alice and sighed: "We'll talk later, Alice. Right now, the Knight-Commander wants me." And without further a due, he went into the Knight-Commander's office, who shut the door with a slam, but not before he shot Alice a kind, apologetic glance.

Alice was not even close to liking gossip, it was not reason she looked around and, seeing there was nobody in the halls, she moved closer to the arched wooden door and listened. The reason was, of course, worrying. It was not the first time Cullen was brought to the Knight-Commander's presence for… excess of severity in his watching of the mages. But it was when she heard footsteps coming from the hall, is that Alice realized things were very serious this time.

Taking advantage of the Tower's circular disposition of halls, she went further into the Templar's Quarters and avoided being seen by First Enchanter Irving, who came in fast paces and entered the Knight-Commander's office. Luckily, since this was the mage's leisure time, mostly all of the templars were around the tower in watching duty, leaving the Templar's Quarters close to empty. Irving went inside and opened the door. Alice moved closer to the door once more and listened.


	5. Act I, Chapter 1: Apostate, part 2 of 2

"This templar has gone too far this time, Gregoir!" said Irving.

"I heard what happened, Irving. Let us see what he has to say for himself." Gregoir's voice was at the same time fierce and soothing. And it became more soothing as he probably turned to Cullen: "Cullen, would you please tell us your own version of what happened?"

A small moment of silence. "Very well. I was at the Great Hall, where I was watching the mages go about their ungodly business, whispering, conspiring, hiding their words from my ears. So I approached two of them, Micah and Lessine, and commanded to stop their vile conspiration and spread. Micah dared to speak back to me, telling me to go pester somebody else. Thus, I brought upon him fair retribution-"

"You spanked the boy! They were not whispering, Micah and Lessine are siblings, they were just talking! And yet you…"

"Please, Irving!" called Gregoir, "Please, let him finish."

"…I was giving him the punishment he deserved as an usurper, when suddenly he begun to speak one of those Tevinter words them mages say when they cast spells. I thus told him he should never cast a spell against a templar, and, drawing my blade, I severed his tongue, as a lesson."

Silence followed. On the other side of the door, Alice was stunned, completely scared of what was going to happen to Cullen. She knew how pestering and provocating the younger mages and apprentices were, she knew how they teased and mocked the templars, and indeed, cast a spell against one of them was a great offense. Besides, tongues can always be healed – Micah wouldn't go with more than a scare.

But that's not what Irving thought. She knew the First Enchanter would like to have Cullen's liver on a silver plate, but before she could listen to more of what was being said, armored steps came down the hall, and Alice once more stepped away. But this time, some templars, about four of them, all curious about the fate of their fellow, took Alice's eavesdropping spot. There was nothing she could, so she just went away, completely worried about Cullen's future.

It was John Cousland's fault. Cullen was right. She too feared that there might be infiltrated maleficar, even if she didn't think _all _of the mages were dominated, but he needed to be watchful. Micah was one of the few survivors of both Uldred's uprisal and Denerim's Great Battle. Alice's mind was in complete disarray, and she needed to set her thoughts straight.

She walked around the tower, until, in one of the tables of the fairly empity library, she saw Wynne, reading a leisure book. A romance of sorts, something about Nevarran dragon hunters. Alice approached slowly, with a kind and worried smile in her beautiful lips. "Wynne?" said she, to what the elder mage raised her eyes and replied to that smile in kind.

"Hello, Alice. You have a troubled look on your face. Is something wrong?"

"Didn't you hear of what just happened to Micah?" asked Alice. At Wynne's negative answer, Alice brought her up to date with the facts.

"Oh, dear Maker…" said Wynne, sadly. "Poor Micah, and more than that, poor Cullen. He never truly recovered from the incident with Uldred, did he?"

Alice took a little while to answer. You see, to her, what truly troubled Cullen was not the incident with Uldred. It was the incident with the now arl of Amaranthine. It was he who allowed blood mages to go free, and demons unharmed. It was he who imposed the restoration of the Circle, it were his actions that made it impossible to make sure the tower was free of Maleficar. Had the Circle been annulled, Cullen would not be as he was.

"No, he didn't." said Alice, holding those thoughts to herself. "I guess none of us, who were here before, truly did. We still get startled at odd sounds or at weird pulls in the _Tellurian_. The thing is, so much was left open by that Grey Warden…"

"Oh, John?" Yes, Alice hated it, Wynne said 'John' with ease and initimacy, as if he were her best friend. "No, what he did was right, Alice. Not in the right way always, I would say, but in the end, didn't his leadership and boldness save us all?"

Alice sighed and shrugged, finally taking a sit by Wynne's side. "I don't know, Wynne. Look at Cullen, for example. Can you truly blame him? A man comes here, followed by a Qunari and an apostate, does horrible things, then goes out in the world, and _survives_ the confrontation with the Archdemon." Alice made a brief pause and raised her eyes to Wynne's. "You were there with him, Wynne, ever since he left the Circle. Can you truly tell me Cullen has no reason to be like that? Wasn't the Grey Warden an enemy of the Maker?"

Wynne didn't respond right away. She needed to ponder about that particular question, since even though she didn't believe Cullen had reasons to be so paranoid as he were, John Cousland could indeed be labeled as an 'enemy of the Maker'. "Well, child… This is a delicate matter. It is as I often tell people: the Grey Wardens are a pragmatic lot. John Cousland mainly was not a… Religious person. He did not worship the Maker himself, but he had a, let us put it this way, healthy respect for those who did."

"You see, I am also not particularly religious. I adore our Lord, the Maker, and his holy wife Andraste, I do. But king Alistair and John's wife, Leliana, they were both very religious. You know king Alistair almost became a templar, right?"

Alistair. As Alice often called him on her private thoughs, the weak king. She still couldn't understand how a man that was about to take his vows and become a holy templar allowed John to do the things he did. Alice killed the blood mage who John left to live, but what about the possessed templar? Alice had not forgot about him, and on the very night Uldred was defeated, before they went to Redcliffe, Alice looked for him, only to find his body laying dead on a bed, hugging a pillow the demon most likely told him was his beautiful lovely wife. And now, the man who saw this happen and did nothing was Ferelden's king. Thank the Maker for Queen Anora, Alice thought. She said nothing as Wynne went on.

"So, while we ventured through Ferelden, John was very much respectful regarding their religiousness. He just would not let it interfere with our mission. But answering your question, Alice, yes. John even called himself sometimes enemy of the Maker. He pretty much hated all the Chantry stood for."

"See?" said Alice, rage building inside her "I knew it! I am willing to bet my neck that he surviving the slaying of ther Archdemon has something to do with a foul pact, blood magic, or both!"

Wynne said nothing. She suspected that herself. She remembered still the night before the battle, when John and Morrigan would not be found anywhere, and the very, very powerful waves that flowed through the threads of the Tellurian. She knew Morrigan did something; even if she could not know exactly what was it. On the next day, she, John, Sten and Oghren assaulted Fort Drakon, while the others were left under Morrigan's tutelage to guard the gates. Morrigan was then never seen again.

Alice took Wynne's silence as implicit agreement and shook her head, bending forward and resting her head on her hands at the same time she rested her elbows on her knees. "I'm just so afraid of what is going to happen to Cullen, Wynne! He shouldn't pay for that man's sins, the Warden's actions shouldn't fall on Cullen's shoulders…"

Wynne was going to say something, but before she could say anything, a throng of mages passed them by, hurried, all of them whispering amongst themselves of something going on in the templars quarters. That immediately brought Alice to raise and rush past the group of mages and up the stairs once more to the Templars Quarters.

Some stories up, and Alice halted at the foot of the stairs from which First Enchanter Irving came down. Right behind her, about fifteen mages, including Keili and the injured party Micah followed. All eager to listen to what the First Enchanter had to say. He was somber, he was, but you see, he did not manage to hide that wicked satisfaction of having a templar being punished by his fellow templars because of something done to a mage.

"My dear friends, there is no need for ruckus." Said he. "We all know what was done to our fellow Micah, and that was fair beyond the templar duty and range of authority. Hence, Knight-Lieutenant Cullen, the perpetrator of the offense, will be accordingly punished."

Alice and Micah together, she more fiercely than him, asked: "What will be of him?" By now, some four or five templars, drawn by the gathering of mages, watched too.

"Templar Cullen will be imprisoned for two months, after which he will be transferred to a monastery and will no longer serve in our Circle."

The whole of mages, all but Alice and Keili, rejoiced and celebrated. All of them clapped their hands, jumped and hugged each other, patting Micah on the back and exulting happiness in the fact that the stricter of templars would be gone from the Tower. The surrounding templars just looked and shook their heads. They were sad for Cullen, but he had it coming, didn't he, after all? Amidst all that joy, Keili looked at Alice with eyes full of pity. She knew how it felt to loose the loved person. Ovecomming Nial's death was not easy for her.

Keili approached Alice and touched her shoulder gently. Our hero was looking at the floor, silent tears flowing from her eyes. The other mages eventually left them both alone, not without some mocking words, and the templars too left. The last one to leave, shaking his head, was the First Enchanter. Only Alice and Keili remained.

"What will be of him, Keili…?" Alice's question was but a whisper. Keili, still touching Alice's shoulder, sobbed too, and brought her friend in a kind, condolescent hug. "I don't know, Alice. I truly have no idea." Alice did not hug her back. "I will… I need some moment alone." And without further words, she broke free from Keili's arms and ran up the stairs. She managed to keep her tears at bay, almost overflowing her eye lids and lending a sad and yet beautiful shine to the odd color of Alice's eyes.

Knight-Commander Gregoir had just entered his room, and he too was deeply sad. As a templar he did not have a family. He never knew the love of a son, of a wife, or the warmth of having a safe shelter where to hide from storms. Unlike most of the templars, Gregoir kept a very healthy balance between duty and common sense, which was what led him to halt his rising on the templar ranks, but also was the reason behind life inside Ferelden's Circle being so… calm, compared to the other Circles. Thus, he never nurtured the longing for a family, or for a woman, so much. But there were two people in this circle who made him feel like he were subject to the love of family: Alice and Cullen, the mage and the templar, they both made him feel like a well loved father. On return, he tried his best, so far as duty allowed, to make them feel like well loved children.

It was when he heard the soft, known knock of Alice on his door.

He opened it slowly and let her in. He was already expecting her to come to him; he just didn't have the time to think of what to tell her so he could ease the girl's pain.

His office was not ostensive: not more than a big wooden desk, filled with pieces of parchment, pen and ink; a chair sturdy enough to hold the weight of his armor while he sat wearing it, a bookcase with no more than three books on it, and two smaller chairs in front of his desk. They were pretty much decorative, because these two chairs were not made to withstand templar armor weight, so, only rarely, off-duty templars and mages would sit on it. Other than that, behind him, the shield of the Templar Order, and on his right side, an arched, unbarred window, which allowed a beautiful sight of the sun setting on the western shore of Lake Calenhad. Alice sat in one of the weak chairs.

"I heard that Cullen will be sent away…"

There was silence before Gregoir took a sit behind his desk. Only then, hands folded over the table, and a sad and apologetic look on his features, was that he sighed and said: "I wish I could overlook this, Alice. I wish this was a one time event, something that could be credited to a rage outburst or…" He sighed once more. "I am sorry. But Cullen needs it. He needs sometime to heal the wounds on his soul, for they only grow bigger. Unlike us, he did not recover from the episode with Uldred."

"From the episode with the Warden, you mean." Said Alice, bitterly, almost through clenched teeth.

"Either way. Cullen needs to rest, to be away from mages for a while, so he can set his thoughts back in place." There was a pause, and Alice noted it came from something Gregoir was about to say but didn't.

"What is it, Knight-Commander? What were you going to say?"

"I am… Afraid for him, Alice." Gregoir was not the kind of man who spilled tears. He was of that lot of males who will see their loved ones depart before they shed a single tear – which did not mean he was not deeply sad. Were he the slightest bit more mellow, he would be crying now. "I have heard it for myself: whenever he is alone, he talks, as if to someone who is not there. I am afraid he is going insane."

Now, as Gregoir lowered his head and looked at his hands, Alice cried. The silence was only broken by her sobbing for some few minutes. It was then that he said: "I will let you talk to him, though. He is in the templar prison. Nobody guards it, and no templar doesn't even go near it, unless to imprison or retrieve a fellow templar. You'll have all the privacy you need."

Alice simply nodded, fighting to control her tears once more. Gregoir stood and held the door opened for her, and did not see it coming when Alice hang herself with her arms around his neck in a very thankful hug. It broke all protocol, but truly, who cared? Slowly, he placed his ironclad hands on the small of her back and let her take her time.

"Thank you, Gregoir. Really, really, thank you. You're the closest to a father I have. And I doubt he could be better than you." Whispered she, before letting go of the older man and going the way Gregoir had instructed. He just wished the situation was different. He really wanted to let the joy of Alice's words overflow him, but it didn't. Not when he was sending his other 'son' away.

Slowly, Alice approached Cullen's cell. The templar prison was but a corridor with three cells, on the center of the floor which comprised the Templars Quarters. It was indeed empity and poorly lit. The cells were thick, rectangular wooden doors with small barred openings on the center of their upper half. When about twenty feet away from the door, she heard Cullen's voice:

"I am glad you are here, friend. It is as I told you: the blood mages worked their way around even Gregoir. They will send me away from the Tower so they'll be able to work their evil plan."

So, it was as Gregoir said. Cullen was going insane, speaking alone, imagining plotting evil schemes against the holy ones. But she was really surprised to hear a very faint, whispered female voice, almost impossible to be heard: "As I said before: I truly doubt things are as you say. But on the outside, you may be right. I do think they are scheming. They already took my husband."

Alice felt the skin on her neck stand. She had heard that voice before, but where? It was a soft, beautiful, almost childish female voice, with an unique and cute Orlesian accent. But Alice just couldn't bring herself to remember who this voice belonged to.

"You are right. I will be of more use with you than locked in this cell. Let us go, my friend."

Alice widened her eyes and punched the door, shook it, trying to make it open. She heard the sound of movement inside the cell, and then, all sound was gone.

You can imagine all the courses of action that ran through her head. The most obvious of them was to warn Gregoir of what she heard, but… What would he do after he found Cullen? They would surely bring a more severe punishment over him for escaping his imprisionment. And how long it would take until the other templars actually did something to find him? Would they actually hunt an 'apostate templar', instead of just letting him go his way? There were trues apostates to be hunted, after all, and she was sure finding Cullen would be the least of their priorities.

She took a deep breath. Would she be able to do it? The smaller spells didn't require too much concentration and Words of Authority. Alice pointed a finger at the lock on Cullen's cell door, and it popped open. Easy as that. Afraid of what she would find inside, she slowly opened the door.

"Cullen? Cullen, are you there? It's me, Alice."

What she found was a very small room, no longer than three feet in width and five feet in length. An empity bed and and empity porcelain vase. Iron bars on the floor that should be barring an arched window and a hanging rope on the little stub that was left of one of them. She rushed to the window and looked down, only to find two figures running towards some bushes and vanishing inside them.

Alice was acting on impulse, and with an agility she only knew as a child, she hopped on the window and simply jumped from it, from its immense height, dozens of stories above the surface of the island which held Kinloch hold.

Unlike that of the Wonderland, our Alice's robe did not puff out and slowed her fall. No, she was falling head first, seeing the floors of the tower pass her by in a blur. Luckly, for us (or our tale would finish here), Alice was a quick thinker, and well versed in the Sphere of Forces. She extended her hands in front of her, and shouted: "_Invoco spiritum Zephyri!_" And, as she brought her hands up, a strong gush of wind blew upwards against her, and instead of becoming a red blur of gore on the ground, Alice merely fell softly, bruising the palms of her hands on the stone floor.

But she had no time to loose. She needed to look for Cullen and her mysterious friend before anyone in the tower knew he was gone. And thus, she searched, all around the exterior of the island, covered by the darkness of the night. She found traces of their movement, but while a powerful mage, Alice was a poor tracker. An hour had passed when she realized they were no longer in the island. Where did they go? And more importantly, what would she do? All she knew is that she needed to bring him back, put some sense in his mind.

Maybe out of luck, maybe by Providence, in the peak of her despair, sat at a rock by the shore of the island, Alice saw, or thought she saw, the dark silhouette of two people ta boat, rowing to the far shore of the lake.

She stood, and looked. Her breast rose and lowered quickly, on deep, anxious breathing. Would she dare? Would she go against the laws of the Maker for Cullen once more? When Jowan and Lily dared doing what she and Cullen wouldn't, Alice helped inspite of all her resolve. And so it would be again.

Alice waved the staff, made the gestures and said the Words. Reality bent to her will, the threads of the _Tellurian_ were rearranged, and a path of solid ice begun to form ahead of her. Slowly, step after step, Alice went forth over the calm waters of Lake Calenhad.

She was now an apostate.


	6. Act I, Ch 2: Hunted Hunter, part 1 of 3

Chapter 2

**HUNTED HUNTER**

Behind Alice, the tower of Kinloch Hold pierced the night sky under a full moon. For all intents and purposes, Cullen was locked in his cell, and Alice was probably somewhere around. Who would think Alice, the beautiful Chantry apologist, the resigned loyalist Alice would be anywhere that not inside the tower, where all mages belonged? Nobody would think that she was almost a mile away from the tower.

And it was tiring. Not only she had to walk all this distance – she also kept a powerful spell activated, one that progressively froze the water of the lake ahead of her as she walked, letting the path behind her thaw naturally. Thus, our hero was in pain, taking small, slow steps that brought her further away from the place she called home, drops of sweat dotting her forehead, her legs trembling.

As she went through this ordeal, keeping her focus in order not to let the water beneath her feet unfreeze and end that escape attempt at the bottom of Lake Calenhad, her mind traveled back in the past. To a time before the Blight, before our tale begun. Not too much, though – in fact, just a few weeks before the Battle of Ostagar and the whole revolt that brought events to where they are now. Just after her Harrowing.

You know how it goes, reader. Jowan comes after Alice wakens, and asks her help to have his phylactery destroyed so he and Lily can escape the tower and live a beautiful love story. The forbidden story of the initiate and the mage. So incredibly similar to that of the templar and the mage, right? It was the first and only time in her life Alice actually did something against the laws of the Chantry. Now, the first time was no longer the only one.

So focused and yet distracted at the same she was, that she didn't realize how the air became colder, and how a very thin mist covered her feet.

"Why are you doing this, Alice?" said the hoarse, low male voice, the voice of her Harrowing. The voice of Barthandelus. When Alice heard it, she barely let the control of her spell escape, and thus sought support on her staff. "Where are you, fiend?" She asked, scared and angry, looking around with her beautiful almond-like eyes.

But the demon was nowhere to be found. He had not crossed the Veil, after all – he spoke from the Fade. "I am with you, my dear." Said he "Gazing upon your struggle, and seeing the object of your affection already miles away from your grasp."

Alice said nothing. She took a very deep and long breath, looking straight ahead of her. The weight on her legs was tremendous; yet she went on. And so did Barthandelus: "Why set yourself on the run, when you will not be able to find him? There is so much at stake, my dear. Turn back. The templars did not realize yet that you left. Turn back and I shall turn _him_ back to you."

Alice kept walking, her brows furrowing closer at each of Barthandelus' words. They were almost tempting. Alice knew that maybe the demon could indeed bring Cullen back, but what for? Would she be there, conscious, to see him return to her? What was the whole purpose, after all? Besides, if she didn't dare to defile Cullen with forbidden love, would she go even lower and have his will at the mercy of a demon? No, she wouldn't. That's why she simply said: "Begone, demon. I have no business with you or with your kind. Leave now, I command."

"Oh, but your commands mean nothing to me, Alice. I am Barthandelus. I am old, and wise, and powerful. Mages and demons alike bow to me. And one day, you too shall bend your knee before my presence, dear. And when this day comes, we shall be as one!"

Alice heard his hoarse laughter fade as she gathered her will to resist and keep walking. "Bluffer." said she, giggling a low, mocking giggle. The thing was, Barthandelus' tempting didn't even scratch the surface of Alice's will. It was as if he didn't know how to tempt her in the right way, or… She couldn't think straight. She just needed to keep walking. Each step closer to the shore, each step closer to bringing Cullen back. There was no turning back. Definitely not.

The feeling of dry land beneath her feet gave Alice's body the sign it needed to succumb. Two, three steps at most, and she fell unconscious, at the foot of a tree, and under the shadows it provided, Alice slept. But I can't tell you it was a dreamless sleep, or even one where her dreams brought her closer to the man she loved. I told you already of Alice's keen relationship to the fade, right, reader? But I did not tell you that this same closeness led her much further than mage's traditional consciousness while dreaming. The dreams she had often brought signs and omens, and besides enigmatical, they were always troubling.

That is what she dreamt: a castle that stood on the edge of a cliff, and on the very highest room of the castle's turret, Jowan hid, alone and scared. Alice then came running, and entered the room where Jowan was. In the dream, even though she knew she was dreaming, she had been sent to find him. Not to bring him back, but to find him. And once she found Jowan, behind her, came Cullen, fully armored, sword in hand dripping blood. From the line in his helmet, Alice could see he had bright, red eyes.

Alice looked at Cullen, then at Jowan, and once again back at Cullen. Something called her attention, a red trail that ran behind Cullen, from the door of the room into the stairs of the turret. It was a trail of blood, red and thick, broad and terrifying. Somehow, Alice knew that it was the blood of mages, blood that was spelt not to power magic, but as punishment from wielding it. And now, it was Jowan's time.

What followed in the dream then was that Alice despaired and stood on Cullen's path, in front of Jowan, arms stretched, looking into Cullen's red eyes, her own gaze begging him to stop. There was no sound in the dream, no steps, no voices, no wind: only the steady dripping of the blood from the blade of Cullen's sword. He was tremendous and terribly frightening. Drip, drip, drip, went the drops of blood.

Cullen raised his sword. Alice's eyes widened. Cullen brought his sword down with might. Alice's eyes tightened. In that single swing, her head and Jowan's rolled on the stone floor. No sound. Drip, drip, drip. The trail of blood grew larger. On went the slaughterer.

Alice woke up with a shriek, a high pitched cry followed by desperate longing for the air which had left her lungs. The forest was full of sounds: the chirping of birds, the gentles ruffling of the leaves on the breeze of a sunny day. By the height of the Sun in the sky, noon came closer, or maybe had just gone by, she wasn't sure of it. It was a cold day, and her robe was damp with the dew from the night.

She stood, and looked the way she came. If Alice's calculations were right she was close to Ghelen's Pass. On the horizon, to what she thought (and mind you, she was right) was something close to North, Kinloch Hold pierced the sky. To the west, above the trees, the ruined arches of the Imperial Highway were seen. But the most important thing to her was a boat that stood half on the dry land, half on the calm waters, hidden beneath a dark green cloak, almost next to where Alice fell asleep. She was in the right track, after all. But now, where to? Would they have dared to follow the Imperial Highway?

Walking was the only thing left to do. Alice tried to find traces they could have left, but they were nowhere to be found. Or maybe they were there, and Alice just didn't know how to spot them. It's important that you know that, while Alice helped hunting templars before, she never did it alone. The physical part of the tracking and hunting was left to the templars, while Alice acted more as magical advisor, and, depending on the situation and the target in question, negotiator and/or magical striker.

There were two Spheres where Alice excelled at: Forces, of the School of Primal, and Life, of the School of Creation. Thus, she had not trouble finding food, or making fire to her will. Whenever she did it though, she apologized in prayers to the Maker, for having used magic, his usurped gift, when others could do the same without it. The only problem was finding the trail of Cullen and his mysterious companion.

What Alice did not think about was that while she didn't know how to track fugitives, the templars excelled at it. And about this time, the people in the tower already knew she was gone for good, without the authorization she usually had to run her usual Chantry sanctioned errands. Night had already fallen when she heard the throttling of horses.

Alice was marging the Imperial Highway, walking next to it on the land, instead of going up its white stone path, following north. She had decided to rest, after all, even as a mage who could summon light, it was not safe to travel alone in the dark. She knew very well that children had reason to be afraid of the dark, speacially in places with almost no living soul. So, when the horses were heard, she stood and with the snapping of a finger put out the fire she had made. Traveling light, she had no trouble of going quickly into the forest.

But it was dark, very dark, and Alice could not create light without revealing her position. She wasn't sure the sound of horses was from pursuers, but she knew very well she was now an apostate. They templars were swift and efficient in lauching their hunts, and by now, almost a whole day after her escape, they would soon be onto her. So, she waited in the dark, awaken, only to find the first lights of dawn greeting her with what would be another beautiful day. They weren't pursuers, after all.

But something was wrong. Alice looked around, and tried to see the top of the Imperial Highway's arches, or Kinloch Hold's. Or anything that could be used as a referential at all! But in the end, she looked around for some more time, and realized: she was utterly and completely lost. Alice took a deep breath, and tried to locate herself again, but to no avail, and slowly, desperation begun to creep inside her. What had she done?

For two other days she went on, wandering aimlessly, through woods and forests, never to find the Imperial Highway or the shore of the lake which would allow her to find her way, to begin anew the search for Cullen. The only things around her were the tress, the sounds of the forest and the occasional animal. And adding to that, Alice simply knew that Barthandelus watched. He did not speak this time, but she knew all she had to do was simply summon him, speak his name, and he would come to her aid. The loneliness was so despairing that sometimes she actually considered doing it. It was on the third night that she was found.

Still amidst trees and bushes, that looked like all the trees and bushes so far, Alice heard a weird sound. It was like a string of vine being pulled, strained with great strength. It was barely audible, but after so much time lost in the wilderness, all sounds different from the rustling of leaves called Alice's attention. She halted, looked around, and held her staff ahead of her, in a defensive instance. "Who is there? Show yourself!" demanded she.

Slowly, as if just materializing themselves, three people appeared in about ten feet each from Alice. They were short, lithe, and it took a while for Alice to realize they were elves. The three of them wore cloaks of leaves and small pieces of wood that rendered them all but invisible. And all had very long bows made of iron bark, their arrows set at Alice's head, heart and liver. But the one who spoke was none of this three. Alice didn't see where did he come from, but while she was distracted with the three elves, a fourth one was suddenly behind her, a curved thin blade pressed against our hero's neck.

"Do not dare to move, shemlen!" said the elf who had his blade on Alice's neck. The others, they were completely silent. Even as they approached in slow steps, no sound at all could be heard. But now, closer to the mage, their light eyes could be seen, sparkling like those of a cat, beneath the cloak of camouflage. "What business have you around the encampments of the Dalish?"

"I mean you no harm, elvhenan." said Alice, feeling somehow relieved that these were the Dalish elves she heard so much about. She had never before in her life seen one, but she knew that from time to time a clan would camp close to Kinloch Hold. Also, she knew that the proper way to address an elf is to use their own name for their race, and not the human term for it. "I am but a traveler, and lost my path. It was not my intention to trespass and be where I shouldn't."

There was a brief moment of silence. The other elves, the ones with the arches, suddenly looked frightened, and she saw when their ears moved in the direction of a noise she simply did not hear. The elves spoke something amidst themselves in their own tongue, and suddenly, the three archers vanished. How they did it, Alice could not tell, but not a moment later, and both of them were poled on high branches of the trees around, their arches strained and aiming at a target that Alice could not see. "You move, shemlen, and I will cut your throat. Do not try anything, or by Dread Wolf, I will kill you."

Before Alice could say anything, the targets of the archers on the trees appeared, and they were what Alice feared the most at that moment. They were not wearing the heavy armor they usually wear, though: no, to hunt mages, the templars need to adapt to the terrain. There, in the heart of the forest, they wore a suit of chainmail, with a white robe over it bearing the Order's crest. Also, over it all, a dark green cloak covered most of their features, such as the helm would cover their faces when wearing the heavy armor.

"Leave her alone, elves!" Said one of the templars, and they both, the templars, already had their swords drawn. What they could not expect was the wrath the elves would display towards them.

"You!" shouted the elf who held Alice, letting her go all of a sudden and taking point, standing between Alice and the templars, pointing his curved long sword at them. "How dare you, filthy templars, how dare you show yourselves at the aim of our hunters after what you have done?" The elf was not simply angry. He was mad, speaking through clenched teeth! His ears were set back like those of a poucing cat, and his whole body trembled.

Alice managed to identify one of the templars. His name was Alborth, and she had already gone with him twice on the hunting of escaped mages. He was a remarkable fighter and, more than that, kind. Never once did he kill a mage who gave him other option, and he was known amongst the templars to almost always bring back his targets alive, even against their own will. It was him who spoke next.

"We did nothing to your kind, elf. The woman with you, she is a mage who left the Tower of Magi without authorization and we are here to retrieve her. Alice, please, tell them we mean no harm to you or to them."

Alice was going to speak, but such was the rage of the elf leader, that he spoke first: "You, you who hunt the gifted, you just murdered our Keeper! I will not let you leave alive after what you have done, shemlen!" And saying that, the leader raised his sword, the sign the archers needed to fire their arrows.

But the arrows did not find the templars. Shouting "_Invoco spiritum Zephyri!_", the same spell that halted her fall from the heights of Kinloch Hold, Alice bent the winds to her will and, with that, diverted the arrows from the templars. Immediately after she ran to stand between the elves and the templars, trying to keep them from fighting each other.

"Please!" cried she, "Please, there is no need for bloodshed! Elvhen, these men are not with the one who killed your Keeper. I can assure you that, for I look for this man, while these men look for me. Don't hurt them, please!"

The other templar, the one Alice did not know, took a step forward, but was stopped by Alborth's stretched arm on his way. Alborth looked disapprovingly at his friend, and said, out loud so all could listen: "Alice is right. We came seeking her, and only her. We have nothing to do with the murderer of your Keeper. Our only business is to retrieve the escaped mage." He made a brief pause and looked to the elves, who seemed to be more restrained, less angry, and prone to listening. "So, I ask of you, elves: allow us to take Alice with us, and we will leave this land peacefully."

"No." Said Alice, before the Dalish leader could reply. "I am not coming with you, ser Alborth, I am sorry." Both the templars were shocked at Alice's answer. Alborth, mainly, knew her from other missions, and much like every templar in the Tower, he was sure Alice would never turn into an apostate. She went on. "As I said, I am going after Cullen, and if he is indeed the one who killed the Keeper of this clan, I wish to go with them and find the whereabouts of him."

"But Alice, this is not your business. The Order will look for him, you cannot-"

"My decision is final, ser Alborth. I am not returning to the Tower. And I hope you will leave in peace. Because I will not stand idle why you try to take me back."

And with that, Alice took a step forward, and banged the floor lightly with the bottom tip of her staff. The wind begun to blow, and the smell of rain was felt. You know, reader, I will tell you a secret. The smell of rain is the smell of electricity, the smell of air becoming path for bolts of lightning, the very scent of thunder. The Dalish elves looked at her, the templars looked at her, and both the groups measured strengths.

Alborth was sad when he said, pointing his sword to the elves: "This is my final warning, elves. Step away and you shall be spared. This is templar business. If you stand in the way, I will consider you accomplices to an apostate, and then you too will be templar business. I have no quarrel with you. But if you stand by Alice, you will become my enemies."

Alice knew Alborth would not step away. Deep inside, she was trembling like a little girl. They were templars, the holy warriors of the Maker. She kept asking herself what was it she was doing, if she hadn't gone completely insane. She knew she wouldn't be able to cast a single spell, with her confidence shaken like this, so unsure of the right path to follow. It was then that the Dalish leader spoke: "I could not care less for this shemlen, Templar. But this is not the first time your Order has meddled in Dalish business. This was not the first Keeper we lost, so I tell you: you will walk away with your hands empty, or with your body craved with our arrows. Alice is under Dalish protection now. Walk away, or become the prey of our hunt!"

Alborth was not a man of false threats. The time for talk had ended, and without further notice, he simply, very quickly, drew another sword and dashed forth. Just in time, because a moment later, his companion acked and fell on his knees, with an arrow right between his eyes. The other, which was set on Alborth, hit the companion on his kidney.

The elven leader too drew his second sword, and soon, both of them were covered under a shower of sparks, as each templar blow met Dalish blow. The other hunters try tried to fix their aims on the templar, but he kept moving, almost as if dancing, with a grace similar to that of the elves, so rare amongst templars.

Alice watched, unable to help, at least unable to help the elves, mouth open, brows raised in agony. All the fibers of her body told her to go to Alborth's aid, but if she did it, it meant she was going back to the Circle, and she couldn't go back, not without Cullen!

So, with Alice's hesitation, Alborth was outnumbered. He was a great and agile fighter, but he was only one man against four Dalish hunters. Like a spin wheel, he brought three blows, one after the other, top down, each of them paired by the elven leader, but each bringing the elf down, and on the third one, he was on his knees. The fourth one, a broad arch with his left hand, found the leather of the Dalish armor and brought the elf to the floor, almost cutting it to the Dalish skin. The killing blow would have striked swift and certain, if not for the arrow which hit Alborth under his arm, where his armor left him unprotected.

He fell next to the Dalish leader, blood gushing from his wound, and his eyes, blue they were, met Alice's, bringing her out of her trance. Seeing a templar about to die, completely at his enemy's mercy, was too much for her. Once again, the _Invoco spiritum Zephyri _spell sent the arrows that would kill Alborth away from him. She ran and knelt next to him, trying to shield his body with hers. "Stop!" cried she, "Please, hunters, stop! He is defeated, don't kill him!"

The Dalish leader stood, spat blood on the ground, and placed his sword once more on Alice's neck, almost bending completely over her. The other hunters, once more, readied their arrows and waited for their leader command. "You ungrateful shemlen! We risk our lives for you, and that is how you thank us? Taking his side?"

"Alborth is hurt, deeply hurt! You already won the fight, he is no longer a danger to you! Please, let me tend to his wounds, otherwise he will die! And he is a man of honor! He will not turn against an enemy who stayed his blade and spared his life. I swear!"

The Dalish leader looked at the dead templar, and then at Alice and Alborth. Both of them looked back, Alice with desperation in her eyes, Alborth with barely any consciousness left. The elf knew that, if they wanted, they could kill Alborth, even healed, now. Thus, he kicked the templar's swords away, and pointed his own sword to Alice. "Do it, then. And let us see if the templar indeed has the honor of accepting the mercy of the Dalish."

Alborth tried to say something, but nothing left his pale lips. He had lost a great deal of blood. "Hush, ser Alborth." Whispered Alice. "Hush, and let me tend to your wounds." She placed her open hands over Alborth's wound and kept whispering, very gently, in her sweet, beautiful voice:

"_Malum vivifica tibi ascende et facere bene in._

_Dolor ut ascendat et affligit fieri vellet. _

_De morte nuntiata ascendentes vi__tae__._

_De morte nuntiata ascendentes vi__tae__._

_De morte nuntiata ascendentes vi__tae."_

Slowly, as the verses of that soft, whispered chant were repeated, the Arrow stuck in Alborth's arm pit begun to slide away, and soon, when it fell on the bloodied, grassy floor, there was no wound there, only the tear on the underclothing, and the throbbing pain. The chant continued, Alborth's breathing became less and less deep, and color returned to his cheeks and lips. After about one minute, the only sign that the templar was wounded was the hole and dark stains in his underclothing, and the sticky pools of blood on the ground.

The templar rose, and looked at Alice with a mix of fear and admiration in his blue eyes. "I... I don't know what to say Alice." He silenced, and looked over his shoulder at his fallen friend. "Carlo!" cried he, as he rose swiftly to his feet and move to kneel by his dead companion. Carlo, as I said before, had an arrow piercing a kidney and the space between his eyes.

Alborth closed his eyes shut, resting the fallen templar's torso on his lap, and sobbed. While all this happened, Alice and the Dalish looked, the former also sobbing, the latter very aware of Alborth's movements and more than ready to undo Alice's healing with more arrows. Finally, Alborth said: "I don't get it, Alice. Why are you doing this? Why don't you return with me? Did it really need to come so far? To take a knight's life?"

Alice, amidst tears, answered: "I told, you, Alborth, I... I am so sorry! But I need to find Cullen, he is not well, he... I-"

The Dalish leader intervened: "She is not returning with you, shemlen. Take the body of your friend, and flee."

The look of reproval in Alborth's face stung and hurt Alice deep inside. There was gratitude there for her saving his life, too, but she was blind to it. All she saw was the betrayal, the dead templar, all because she refused to go back with them before the fight begun. Now, Alborth took the dead templar up on his shoulders, and walked away, his back turned to the elves and the mages, until he was seen no more.

The Dalish leader turned to Alice as the other three jumped down from the high tree branches, with the grace and ease of a cat. "As for you, Alice, you know there will be retaliation from the templars. Thus you will come with us to our camp, so you can heal the hunters the man you seek wounded. Consider this payment for the lives of you and your friend."

Alice, still stunned, just nodded. Using her staff as walking stick, she followed the Dalish as they walked about the woods, now slowly and on the ground, so the mage could follow them. They didn't take long until they reached the Dalish Camp.


	7. Act I, Ch 2: Hunted Hunter, part 2 of 3

Act I, Chapter 2

HUNTED HUNTER – PART 2 OF 3

It was long walk, amidst the forest that only darkened as the elves and Alice went further in. For long moment – hours, Alice thought, there was no sound but those of the forest and of Alice's own steps. The numbness she felt after Alborth's departure was beginning to fade, and by now, she realized that while there were five people walking, her steps were the only one that could be heard, even in the floor covered with dry leaves and dry sticks.

Alice's feet were aching – she was not used to such long strides, after all, an in the past three days she done naught but walk, and walk. Besides, her traditional mage robe was already ragged at its hems, and up until her knees, it was brown with mud. She desperately needed a bath, she desperately needed to rest. Her sudden attempt of rescue had turned out into a tragedy bigger than she could handle. Her last thread of hope was that the Dalish said a templar killed their Keeper, and it had to be Cullen. It sounded like him, as he had said before; he was of more use outside then locked inside the tower, waiting for transference to a monastery that would but render him unable to do his sacred duty as a templar.

"I never got to learn your names." Alice said, for all the four elves to hear, even if the only one next to her was the leader. The others were around, unseen, scanning the perimeter around their leader and the mage.

Now that the tension had ended, Alice was able to pay more attention to the leader's features. He was tall for an elf, much taller than the elves in the Circle, and such were his subordinates. His long hair was of a dark tint of gold, the same color of his big, angry and expressive eyes, braided in half its length. He wore a suit of greenish brown leather and a dark green cloak, with black leather boots. The tattoos on his stern and slender face depicted a pattern that resembled the stripes of a tiger, which matched with the color of his hair. Unlike his subordinates, his cloak was not covered with leaves and dirt camouflage.

He gave Alice a mistrustful glance, and sighed softly. "I am called Súrinen, for my people say I am to be like the wind." A pause followed, and once again, Súrinen looked at Alice mistrustfuly. Apparentely, he wasn't sure if he ought or not talk to our hero. But there was still a long path to go, and there were things he wanted her to know, so she could help. Thus, he moved the conversation forward. "Alice. What does this shemlen name means?"

She smirked slightly, crooking a side of her beautiful lips in a kind smile. She enjoyed that he would talk to her. This would make things so much easier, after all. The death of a templar and the standing before Alborth still took their toll on Alice's humors, and thus engaging in conversation would be a good thing.

"It means 'noble', 'exalted'." Said she, "But I must say the meaning is overrated. It is not like I am a queen, or even a noble for that matter, amongst my people. There is also another meaning that I find more true to me: 'the true one'. And I am naught if not true, ser Hunter. There is nothing I despise more than lies."

Alice shrugged and continued. "Still, that is the way of humans. They name their children with names whose sonority they are fond of. I love my name, both for the way it sounds as well as its meaning."

The Dalish elf said as he kept walking, now looking straight ahead: "Anyway, I find it odd. You are not the first gifted we help. While camped close to the lake, it is common for shemlen gifted to come to us for aid, and we usually give them the help they need."

"And it is a fact that puzzles me. I know you Dalish are not fond of humans, so why do you help apostates that manage to find you?" asked Alice.

"Because they help us in return. And also, because what you call apostates are the friendlier humans we find in our travels. They do not begrudge us for whom we are, nor try imposing their laws over us. Also, we benefit of their magic."

Alice made a brief moment of silence. She looked down and felt a pang on her chest as she spoke: "You should not do this to apostates. Their—

-our magic is cursed, more than it already was when we were in the Circle, and it is something that displeases the Maker."

"You called mages 'gifted' before," said she, "but what you do not understand, honored Súrinen, is that this gift is the Maker's, and his only, and it is not ours to take. Thus, you would do right to call us 'usurpers', for we have usurped the Maker's gift."

Now, the big golden eyes of Súrinen were narrowed, and his pointed ears turned to Alice, for he could not actually believe in what he heard. "I may call you shemlen usurpers. But mages as a whole? They are the better lot of your kind. And what surprises me, is that while you condemn this 'apostates' so, still you are one of them. Would you mind explaining?"

Alice's eyes filled with tears and she simply nodded, taking hold of her ownself not to spill them in front of Súrinen. Alice's first impression of the Dalish was not a good one. Hunters prone to violence, aiders of apostates, and who spoke of the Maker with such despise in their voice that, in a different situation, would have Alice pick a quarrel for such blasphemies. "It is a long story that I will try to make short-"

"You should never make stories short, shemlen. This hurrying about all things is what thins the blood and brings death so soon in a lifespan. Hurry must be avoided, especially in stories, which hold so much power."

Alice blinked at the interruption, and was a little mad at her ownself for agreeing with him. "Well. It has to do with the man who killed your Keeper. Cullen is his name. He and I…" she hesitated. "We were friends. Very dear friends. He was a righteous man, the most righteous of them, pious and kind, like a better version of ser Alborth, who we just met and whose life you kindly spared."

"Until one day, a bad man, a Maleficar, high in the hierarchy of our Circle, brought a revolution, slayed many, spared none but those who escaped, and let demons and abominations loose on the Tower."

Súrinen merely listened, walking a few steps ahead of Alice, one of his ears turned back to the mage.

"Then came a man, a warrior, followed by his band, and killed Uldred. Maybe you know of him. His name is John Cousland, also known as the arl of Amaranthine, and Hero of Ferelden."

Súrinen turned to Alice then, and matched his pace with hers; smiling a smile broader than any he had smiled so far. "I know who you mean. I was in Denerim, and fought by his side against the darkspawn that took the shemlen city. Amongst us he is known as Tïntalle - the Kindler."

"Kindler?" Asked and exclaimed Alice at the same time, taken by surprise, not able to hide her revolt at such a title.

"Yes, kindler, Tïntalle." said he, tilting his head the slightest bit to a side. "It was him, mind you, a shemlen, that united the clans once more, and now, many clans travel to Amaranthine, where they cannot be harmed by the local shemlen law, and unite. That is where we are heading, coming all the way from the land your kind calls Rivain."

"The only thing he kindled was Cullen's madness! After he was done defeating Uldred, he allowed maleficarum and apostates to go loose, demons to live and templars to die! Because of him, Cullen is as now, and it is '_Tïntalle's_' fault that your Keeper is dead."

There was so much bitterness in the word 'Tïntalle', that if I twisted it on its ends, it would drop poison. And Súrinen didn't like it a single bit. He stopped walking and narrowed his eyes once more to Alice. His voice lost all the friendliness that was growing slowly as they spoke. "Few are the shemlen who can be called friends of the elvhenan. Most apostates are amongst these few, and if there is only one shemlen alive we Dalish call hero, a single one, this one is Tïntalle. So, stop insulting our friends, for we do not take well offenses upon those we hold dear."

Alice met the elf's fiery gaze and held hers as well, anger burning inside her. But she needed them. She needed to reach their camp, find the trace of Cullen's whereabouts, and then leave these heathens, friends of other heathens, for good. Meeting the Dalish had been nothing like Alice thought it would be. She knew they did not follow the One True God, but this was going too far. Now they were flocking around John Cousland? Did he have to help all who denied the Maker, and never those who had the true faith?

Alice went silent the rest of the way, and Súrinen would have it that way. The elf already regreted having risked his life for Alice, but still, she had some answers and the healing magic that would prevent the injured hunters from dying. Falon Din knew, they were already very few as they were.

Finally after another ten minutes of walking in the forest, a clearing opened suddenly before them, and the sight that followed took Alice's breath away.

Try to imagine this: a clearing that resembled a circle in shape, very, very wide, its berth reaching probably a quarter of a mile. In the very center of this clearing, a massive tree spread its golden canopy all over the clearing, with the sun shining through the dry leaves in spots of shimmering light that moved according to the whim of the gentle breeze. The tree trunk had a light blue tint to it, and around it, there were shrines, statues and offerings.

The Great Ironbark was so impressive that Alice took a while to notice the bonfires and the aravels scattered all around it. The Dalish wooden cars, astonishing if not seen next to the tree that gave them shadow, were fully loaded, and the only sing of all the Dalish hardware was the religious paraphernalia scattered precisely around their own Vhenadahl. Rows and rows of mighty hallas ate the green grass of the floor, waiting to be linked to the aravels and set travel. And, finally, about a dozen elves glanced as the stranger that followed the hunters.

It was the First, a young male elf whose dark hair blowed in the breeze, who greeted them. Alice noted that while the other of the Dalish elves had the tattoos on their faces painted in totality, that means, they were not just outlines, but intricared patterns of deep burgundy, this elf, the First, had his tattoos made only in the outer lines, as if the insides waited to be filled. "_Andaran Atish'an, shemlen_." Said he, in a kind and distant voice. "I am K'haron, First and next Keeper of this clan."

Alice realized soon this elf was a mage, and all the reverence that was paid to K'haron frightened her. He carried his staff with him as if it was a mark of deep honor, an instrument of authority. As soon as he spoke, Súrinen bowed before him as if K'haron were a Revered Mother. But still, Alice knew she was the foreigner, and thus she bowed her head in respect. "I am Alice Amell, ser First, from the Circle of Magi."

"I see. Would you wish to ride with us to Amaranthine, Alice Amell? There are others like you who-"

"First K'haron, I am sorry to interfere." Said Súrinen, interrupting the First in the middle of his sentence. Alice narrowed her eyes at that, after all, it seemed the First was about to say something about other apostates. Súrinen went on. "Alice is not an escaped gifted. She is here to track the shemlen who killed the Keeper, and then she will return to her Tower. I brought her because she is skilled in healing magic, and might help our fallen _lethalinen_."

K'haron narrowed his very light gray eyes at that affirmation, and the next words he exchanged with Súrinen were unintelligible for Alice. The words seemed like sang instead of spoken, and their sound resembled the accent that marked the way the Dalish spoke the Tongue of Commerce. But she knew it was not truly the language spoken at Arlathan, it was not the elven tongue. It was a dialect developed after millennia of exile, which tried to emulate the elven tongue, but was not it. Still, it was beautiful.

Finally, K'haron turned to Alice and smiled again while Súrinen bowed to him and simply left, without further words given to Alice. "Please, Alice Amell, come this way. I know you have walked a long way, and your kind is not used to walking long distances, but I would ask of you that you first gave our wounded the kindness of your spells. Later, you can rest in one of our aravels, and I will answer yours questions to the best of my ability."

Alice nodded and she followed the First towards one of the shrines around the Vhenadahl, one that had an indigo tent erected over it. It was the larger tent around, Alice noted. It was clear that the Dalish were eager to leave that place as soon as possible.

As they entered the tent, Alice saw three young male elves lying in beds made of soft grass over the ground. A thick scent of incense and herbs hung on the air, its smoke spiraling up from colorful candles, and small statues of dozens of gods were placed all around the grassy floor. "I would like to be left alone as I do it, ser First." said Alice in a small voice. K'haron merely nodded and left the tent, leaving Alice inside.

The loneliness of that tent was different than the loneliness of the forest, and yet Alice felt equally lost. The sight of the fallen Dalish was something she was not ready to witness: the blood stained bandages around their waists, the lack of a hand in one of them, and the heavy breathing that made the grayness of the scented air swirl around. She fell on her knees, covered her face, and cried.

Her purpose was still firm in her heart, but the path she trailed so far had not been easy. All certainty, her very ground, had been swept from under her feet in a sudden spin of fate. There she was, casting spells in a heathen shrine, before the statues of gods whose name she knew not, abominations in the eyes of the Maker, bringing these very heathens and heretics back to life. Heretics that were led by and bowed before and payed respect to a usurper who refused to sing the song of salvation.

But they would bring her to Cullen. To the one she would not admit as her one true love. So, for hours, she placed her hands over the elves, reciting the Words of Authority, bringing their wounds to heal, their lost limbs to grow, their breathings to ease and stead. By nightfall, the three Hunters opened their beautiful elven eyes while, exhausted, Alice closed her human ones and passed out, falling immediately asleep.


	8. Act I, Ch 2: Hunted Hunter, part 3 of 3

ACT 1

COME OUT, TO A BRAND NEW WORLD

Chapter 2

HUNTED HUNTER

She woke up not to the singing of birds, but to the blowing of a very low pitched clarion. It resembled a sound she once heard when, in one of her errands, she saw a huge herd of cattle being driven across the Imperial Highway. Soon, two other clarions joined the first low pitched one in dissonant harmonic higher tones. It was beautiful music, unlike any Alice heard before, which left her agape. She realized she was in a bedroom with floor, walls and ceiling of wood, very small, with but a bed, where she layed and a bed side table to it. She no longer wore her robes, but a dress of undyed cotton that hung loosely on her body, but that went no lower than the middle of her thighs.

It was then that a cry joined the clarions: the hallas, all of them, raised their hoarse voices to join the music of the clarions, and soon, only their voices were heard. The clarions fell silent, the whole room trembled and squeaked, and set into a slow, almost lazy motion as Alice noted that there was a small closed window, which she promptly opened. She was inside an aravel, and the sound she heard was the sound of the hallas beginning their march south, taking the clan with them.

In that very moment, the Maker, Cullen, the Circle and the Chantry had all but left Alice's mind. Her chin was fallen, her beautiful eyes widened. Her head projected outside the window as the floor beneath her feet rumbled and the wood of the aravel squeaked. She felt like a little girl! Her mouth was a full smile, and after a while, she laughed out loud. They were approaching the end of the clearing, leaving the majestic ironbark tree behind and, somehow, after a few minutes, they were _inside_ the forest, and she couldn't understand how those massive wagons moved and swirled amidst the trees.

She wanted to see better, and went for the door of the little room, but it was locked. It was only then that Alice realized that in one of the walls there were depressions deep enough to make climbing easy. On the roof a porticulis banged softly with the moving of the car, indicating it was opened. Alice did not hesitate and with no small agility climbed up the depressions and up the porticulis only to find herseld struck by more awe.

She was atop the aravel. It was long and tall, and the canopy of the tall trees was at the reach of her raised hand, sometimes even brushing her hair. There were about twenty aravels, stretching like a giant wyrm, far and narrow, one after the other in an organized line. The tops of the aravels were all linked by bridges of wood and rope, which the Dalish had no difficulty in crossing.

In fact, that is where most of the clan was right now, just as the daylight made its way through the leaves of the forest. Children played, running from aravel to aravel, in those bridges that, Alice was certain, she would never be able to cross without literally gliding. Yet, nimble as only an elf could be, the youths all simply walked over them as if they were solid groud. On the trees, Hunters came and went, bringing game and reports, away for scouting, back after the end of their shifts. Time and again, a halla would send its cry on the air, and be answered by the others farther back or ahead on the long line. The wind blew, and Alice swiftly held her dress in place, or she would be left plainly naked by it. There were no undergarments under that simple dress.

Yet, it was easy to stay there, on top of the aravel, even with its gentle boucing, enjoying the feeling of her barefeet on the wood. Alice had been bathed, she realized as she felt her own good scent, and if she had only one thing to complain, she was hungry. Her eyes scanned the rest of the aravel where she was, and she saw a second opening, this one broad, and often would an elf go up from it or down into it. Also, a column of smoke rose from it, bringing the scent of fresh baked bread, which only added to Alice's hunger. Thus there she went, and finding she still held the nimbleness of her girly days, she went down the opening.

Alice was now in a broad room, warm and well lit, with wide windows and a table that rounded a pilar of wood the same color of the great Vhenadahl. It was ironbark, and thus would not burn. Inside this ironbark pilar a fire burned, warming the wagon and also baking the serving of bread that had recently been pulled from it. On the table, about five elves sat. One of them was K'haron, the First.

"Alice Amell, it pleases me to see you well. Creators be praised!"

The smile that was broad on Alice's lips, like that of child on days of festivals, suddenly vanished. That single sentence, maybe said upon intent on K'haron's part, brought her back to the reality that all that beauty was foul, that all that interation with nature and animals was consequence of pagan religion and wicked worship. She took a large breath, feeling the tasty smell of spicy bread despite herself, and after that she could hear her stomach growl.

It was hard, after all, to feel sad now. There was a roof over her head, even if a moving one, and dry, steady, rocking floor beneath her feet. Her hair was not tangled, she smelled of flowers and her clothes were clean, even if too short and 'showy' for her taste. And now, she was going to feed herself with something other than magicly acquired game. All the wickedness and foulness of the Dalish still bothered her, but way, way less than it did when she arrived to them.

"I bid good day to you, First, and all of you too, fellow Dalish." Said Alice, making a short bow, and asking: "Am I welcome to break my fast with you? I walked many a mile until I got here, and I starve."

"By all means, _Falon_, of course you are!" The elf moved aside and pointed toward the circular table with the hearth in its center, in the middle of the aravel. The First wore no robes, like the human mages did whenever they could. He wore cotton dark green pants, with a sleeved white cloak that hung over his shoulders like a cape, its sleeves long and wide. His thin chest was bare and long and many necklaces hung over it, mostly of them of woody materials, but some beautifully adorned with gems. His long, dark hair was loose today, falling over his shoulders, set behind his long ears, which rested at ease.

Alice noticed, as she walked to the table, that you could tell an elf's mood by the way their ears stood. Relaxed, almost as if fallen, they meant the elf was at ease. Whenever they were set back, pointing backwards, meant the elf was prone to violence, while ears that would not sit in one position meant the elf was scared and often searching the surroundings for any threatening noise. K'haron's ears were relaxed. The other elves' ears were set back.

Still, she sat, and broke bread with them, quietly, happy to see that the elves would take their time chewing and tasting the food instead of plainly swallowing it. Alice, even if very hungry, ate slowly too, savoring each mouthful of bread she never tasted before. It was warm, and spicy, with herbs that resembled garlic, onion, and maybe salt. The drink they poured for her, they said, was made out of maple leaves so common in the forests they were. This one was not fermented, but the fermented one would be given in days of celebration.

They were saving two caskets of it, the _Inan Enansal_, or simply _Enansal_, for when they reached the arling of Amaranthine.

Alice almost did not speak during the meal, and K'haron spoke most of the time. As he spoke and her hunger got sated, she started to become ill at ease. If she had ears like an elf, she thought, hers would be just like those of the other elves who shared the table with them. Finally, when she was done with the food and drink, and after a refreshing goblet of clean water, K'haron stood, gathered the many layers of his cloak over his arms, and pointed to a door, a regular door, in one of the longer walls of the aravel. "Now, _Falon_, would you be as kind as to walk with me? I believe there are answers you seek, and I would be glad to provide those in my power."

Alice stood, feeling sated and thankful for the food, and nodded. The First opened the wooden door, and Alice saw they were but three feet above the forest floor. Yet, even being a wide wagon, the aravel rode not in a road, but amidst the trees of the forest. There was just the right berth for them to stride forth. K'haron noticed that she observed that and lept from the moving aravel, followed by Alice.

Now, they were both on steady ground, grass, and dry leaves, and dirt beneath their feet. "The hallas know the way which will bring us to where we need to go, without the need of roads, _Falon_. It is their gift, and our blessing." They walked; their idle pace just matched that of the hallas. Once again, there was absolutely no hurry in anything the Dalish did. "And there is no magic involved in this, but that of the Creators, who gave us the hallas to guide us in our long exile, the _Abelas Shiral_."

"You called me 'Falon', before. Pardon me, for I know not the words of your people, ser K'haron." Alice said, looking straight ahead of her, still amazed at the dexterity with which those huge wagons moved around the forest.

"_Falon_ is our word for 'friend'. And you have proven yourself a friend, Alice Amell, when you brought so many of us away and back from the claws of the Dread Wolf. It doesn't matter what you think of our traditions, or our lack of regard for the words of your Chant of Light. Even with the differences, you helped to the point of fatigue. You are truly _Falon_ to us."

As Alice heard that, she could not avoid the rising of a small, concealed smile to her lips. She despised heathens, speacilly those who so blutuntly denied the word of the Maker, and bowed to the Usurpers workers of magic. But, somehow, she just couldn't bring herself to direct this hate to the Dalish. She just didn't know why.

"I helped you because I need your help in return, First, make no mistakes. I should not seat in the council of heathens. But still, you men proved themselves to be honorable when they allowed a templar to walk free, and your clan gave me shelter and rest. Thus, I mean you no harm. But that doesn't mean I wish you well, either. You **are** heretics, and you march to a land ruled by an even greater heretic."

"I can understand, you, who were born outside civilized society, with no chantries and no instruction in the Faith, to hold dearly to your heathen traditions." Said Alice. "But the one you call _Tïntalle_ is a noble man, born under the sigil of the Twin Leaves of House Cousland, the oldest of Ferelden noble Houses." Alice made a brief pause and she felt anger rise inside her once more. "The man had a Chantry _inside_ his home, by the Maker! It is he I cannot forgive. It is he who gives heathens such as you shelter from the arms of the Holy Church."

K'haron looked at her through his beautiful narrowed silver elven eyes, and shook his head. But unlike Súrinen, who got truly offended with Alice's bold words, K'haron laughed. "Oh, Alice Amell, you are one hard tongued _Falon_. I bear no grudges against you. Unlike many other gifted, you absorbed all your priests told you. And you should. It is your culture, the very traditions of your people. If it is the Maker who answers to your prayers and soothes your heart, by all means, praise him. Tradition is a people's most sacred belonging, and I will never tell you to forsake yours."

Alice was stunned to hear that. There was so much respect in K'haron's words, that Alice was lost for hers. She knew she should tell him it was not a matter of tradition, that it was a matter of following the One True God and forsaking all that is not of Him, but the zealot inside her had a hard time coming out when so much courtesy was being poured over her. So, K'haron went on. "Still, you must understand that what _Tïntalle_ does is not giving shelter for our religion. As Commander of the Grey for Ferelden and arl of Amaranthine, he has decreed that no harm shall come to any elf in the lands of Amaranthine if not by the arm of the law and the arl's and king's justice."

"The _shemlen_ hate us, Alice Amell. They are not like your lot, in your Circle of Magi, who treat elf and _shemlen_ as the same. I believe you know that, outide the stone walls of your tower, our people are persecuted and isolated in cesspools, and they are forbidden from seeking their traditions; they are no longer elves."

For the first time since she arrived, Alice found bitterness in K'harons words, yet spoken so mildly that sometime his voice lost itself amongst the creaking of the aravels. "It doesn't matter if our faces are adorned with _Vallaslin_ and we worship the Creators, or if our faces are as clean that those of the _shemlen_ and we follow your Chantry. We are always persecuted. _Tïntalle_ puts an end to it. There, says the word that travels, the elves are treated kindly, and the Dalish are allowed to be left alone, with no further need to move our aravels."

Alice took a deep breath and said: "K'haron, you are a worthy man, even if heretic. I don't mean to wish you ill, but the more you speak of John Cousland, the less I like you. And I would like to part from the Dalish thankful for their help, and not feeling spite for their disregard towards the Chant of Light, and their worship of the greatest enemy the Faith has ever found."

At that moment, Alice had no idea she was speaking the most absolute truth. John Cousland will rise to challenge the very power of the Chantry, and even now, years before it would happen, Alice could see it. But I will address these future happenings much ahead in this tale. For now, let us return to what Alice told K'haron.

"So, please, I just would like to know what happened here, and what lead you can give me towards the man that killed your Keeper."

"Very well, Alice Amell." K'haron made a brief pause, and his countenance grew darker. Strangely, the hallas begun to cry, almost a sad song, as he brought forth the happenings of the night after Alice fled Kinloch hold.

"It was night, and the moon was up in the sky. Most of our Hunters were asleep, and only the usual few kept the guard. All of a sudden, we heard e beautiful song. I remember it. I was awake, reading a scroll the Kepper had bid me study, and suddenly, this elven song was heard all around us."

"I could not tell you where the song came from. It was sung by the most beautiful woman voice I heard so far. Its tones and melody were enthralling, and so enthralling they were, that my eyelids felt heavy, and I fell asleep over the very scroll I read."

"And then, we woke up. The sun was bright in the sky, and cast before the Great Vhenadahl was the body of our Keeper. There was great commotion, and the Hunters easily picked the trail of the killers."

Alice had not known they were two killers, even though she knew Cullen had escaped with a woman. Until now, she but wondered who this woman was, and strangely enough, she didn't feel jealous of her. Somehow, she trusted Cullen so deeply Alice knew he was hers and no nobody else's. Now that K'haron meant the womanly voice and the presence of a second killer, it all became clear to her as of why Cullen allieged himself with the mysterious woman. The elf went on.

"But they, the templar and the woman, were fierce warriors, and killed all the hunters who gave them pursuit, even if, strangely enough, they did not kill those who fell behind. I still wonder why it is that they did not kill me."

Alice knew that. "Fate bid so. They probably looked for you, and did not find you. It is clear that they were after the apostate they knew, and did not want to spen innocent blood killing one who _might_ be an apostate." And she felt proud for it. "Still, how is it that you may help me track him?"

K'haron smiled. "One of our Hunters, one of the very ones you saved, was the first one to find them. He stalked them for a while atop the trees, waiting for this fellow Hunters to come. And he overheard them. They said where they were going."

Alice's eyes widened and she halted in place, forgetting all manners she knew and holding k'haron by both his shoulders. "And where is he heading? Pray, tell me!"

"They said they aimed for a _shemlen_ high lord. Teagan was his name. They were set for Redcliffe."


	9. Interlude: Safe Haven

ACT 1

COME OUT, TO A BRAND NEW WORLD

INTERLUDE

SAFE HAVEN

Now, a little pause. You see, there are some things that happened while Alice ran from the Tower and met the Dalish that will be of her interest. I mean, I want to please you all, readers, but what use would be a tale about Alice Amell who would not bring things new to Alice Amell herself? I want her to enjoy the reading of this tale! So, as I know things that she doesn't, I will make a brief interlude, to tell you (and her as well) of some happenings that correlate with her story.

So, Redcliffe. That's where Cullen and his mysterious companion are bound. Little did Alice know that the very day she learned if from the Dalish, a letter reached Isolde Guerrin, arlessa of Redcliffe.

This letter was resting on the chest of drawers while she gazed at her own reflection in the full-body silver mirror in her bedchambers. She tilted her head to a side, and then to the other, and undid the bun in her hair, letting her waves flow loose over her shoulders. This letter made her feel prettier, younger, even with the first strands of white in her hair. She eyed the letter once more, beholding the broken seal in sky blue wax, the seal with the Twin Leaves that was the sigil of House Cousland. Sha had traded correspondence with the Couslands before, and the arlessa knew that the wax in their seals was green. Only John used sky blue.

"Dearest Lady Isolde Guerrin, arlessa of Redcliffe,

Now married to another beautiful Orlesian, I will no longer open my letters praising your beauty as I often did before I left Highever to join the Grey Wardens. I am only thankful that you allowed me to taste of this exquisite beauty before my betrothal, and believe, this is a memory I will forever cherish. I write you to bring you news of my faring as Commander of the Grey and thus arl of Amaranthine.

It has been almost three years since I finally had the opportunity to actually rule this land. The first months were spent cleaning the more resistant bands of darkspawn that did not recede to the Deep Roads after I vanquished Urthemiel, the Archdemon. Now, with peace on the land and the commerce flowing swiftly through the Pilgrim's Path, Amaranthine thrives once more, and it is time to do here what I always thought to do in Highever, were I to become teyrn instead of my lord brother.

The first year I spent fortifying the realm. I managed to improve Vigil's Keep a good deal during the months I which I cleansed the last of darkspawn, and then I turned to the more fragile parts of the arling. The main cities now hold dwarven built walls, and now, as I write this letter, the sea fleet has grown to four times its previous size, and the entrance to the Waking Sea is ruled by my navy.

It all costs gold, but whereas other rulers spend, I invest, and I managed to raise the fortune of the realm considerably, and the citizens are becoming skilled in their jobs, and the farming lands are giving greater crops every year. We have enough to feed our people, fill our granaries and sell the rest.

The First Warden in the Anderfells sent almost no coin, but I had enough of my own, and the vaults of the Howes were full enough to make due. Since the Blight is ended, the First Warden seems to pay no heed to what goes on, politically, so far from Weisshaupt.

But why would I tell you all this, dear lady, as if I were writing a report stating my accomplishments as ruler? I tell you of the strength of the arling because it is befitting that you know that this is a safe place for the other, more subtle changes I am implementing.

As you may know already, I summoned the elves of Thedas, Dalish or not, to come and take shelter in my lands. I decreed that no harm may come to the Dalish elves, unless by the arm of wordly law, and subjected the Chantry to this very worldly law.

I am well aware that you are a pious woman, my lady of Guerrin, but you and I both know that the Chantry can intrude way too much in our lives, more than we would like it to. As arlessa, you know how many times your lord husband faced the direct opposition of the Revered (and lesser ones, too) Mother, thinking that her divine authority is greater than that of the ruler of the land. Just so you have an idea, beautiful Isolde, the Divine threatens to interditate the arling. Thankful enough, the priests of Amaranthine are not so tuned to the Divine's wishes. At least, not enough to actually carry forward an interdiction.

So, casting aside the Chantry's alleged authority, I tell you that as I do to elves, I will also do to mages. I intend in giving the mages a safe haven in Amaranthine, where they will be watched by the templars, but not confined in the cold walls of a tower. Their names will be theirs to bear, such as their titles. My good friend, king Alistair, as a quasi-templar he is, doesn't agree with this, but as was before, it is now: he lacks the will to deny me my decisions, and I have what seems to be a strong ally in our wise queen. She too is upset with the not always convenient intervention of the Church in noble ruling.

Pray, fair lady, understand that this is still a secret. I tell you this only out of the deep friendship I have for the Guerrins, the boyish love I felt for you in my child days, and our own desire that Eamon's lineage doesn't end with him. In Amaranthine, Connor will be able to inherit the honors he is due as the only trueborn son of the arl of Redcliffe, and the might of Amaranthine and of the Grey Wardens, even the very templars of the arling, will safeguard him from harm.

So, I invite you with all honors due to a highborn lady of your stature and beauty, to be my guest in the City of Amaranthine, where you will be able to see once more the child I helped to save and that will no longer be a prisioner in a guilded cage. Come, and meet Connor of House Guerrin, your son.

Je baise vos mains délicates.

Éternellement vôtre,

John Cousland

Called Hero of Ferelden,

Named Dwarva Salroka andTïntalle,

Commander of the Grey,

Arl of Amaranthine."

It was the third time she had read it, and each of the times, she giggled like a shy girl at the gallant compliments he bade her, and felt a deep happiness in her heart when she realized she was about to see Connor, hear dear son, once more. Trully, she had absolutely no idea why John insisted so much in helping the elves, but Elleanor had told her, he had always been like this.

Isolde was no more than a woman made recently of age when she married Eamon, still speaking Orlesian and always having the help of a translator, an old lady who had served the Orlesians when they ruled the land. She and Eamon had ridden north to congratulate the Couslands on the birth of their second son. After that, year after year, as Fereldan nobility gathered in Denerim to renew their bonds of fealty to king Marric, she saw the boy grow and met the good friend Lady Elleanor of Highever always worried of John's attachment to the elfling servants. They were all sure it would pass as he grew. And now, here he was, openly gathering the elves around him.

Still, in the late years of John's childhood, he always eyed the lady Isolde, smiled and blushed in her presence. One of these landsmeets Fergus said aloud how pretty John thought Isolde was, and that he hoped old Eamon would die soon so he would be able to marry the arlessa. That made a good lot of the nobility laugh out loud. With time, John came of age and announced his betrothal to Iona, lady in waiting in some of the Cousland's vassal families. An elf. This caused great commotion amongst nobility. Some praised the Maker that the Iona died in the Howe attack.

By then, Isolde had all but forgotten the boy crush John Cousland had on her, until the night he was a guest in the castle, with odd companions and many mages. It was late in the night, and she was watching Connor sleep a dreamless sleep, resting, free from the demon that had binded him and set her husband in a comatose slumber. She did not see him enter the room and stand next to her.

They talked for a while. She thanked him once more, and pleaded that he asked her a boon for saving her son's life. Also, he had promised, he would find the Urn of Sacred Ashes and restore life to her dear husband. She needed to thank that boy that was now a grown man, clad in armor and weary not only from the battle that freed her land and castle, but also from the battle that prevented the blood mages from taking over the Circle of Magi. After three denials from his part, he accepted. He asked for a boon.

Isolde had never betrayed Eamon in decades of marriage. But how to deny him a favor, especially one that made her fell so secure and wanted? How to deny her own self the comfort of his arms, when for months before that all ground beneath her feet had evaded her? So, as the letter she now had in hands said, Isolde allowed John Cousland to have a taste of her 'exquisite beauty'.

She giggled once more and, with her hair as it was, left her room and went to the castle's great hall, now empity but for the couple of visitors who brought her great news.

Kaitlyn and Teagan sat at the head of the long table, whispering to each other and choking laughters as they fed on freshly baked bread, ham and wine. Isolde wore a long and simple dress of white cotton, with burgundy cloak hanging over her shoulders, while Kaitlyn's dress was more elaborate, dark green with silver embroidery, as fitting a merchant who succeeded enough to buy her own nobility title and attract the attention of the bann Teagan of Rainesfere. It was the first time they came for Redcliffe, now a year after their marriage in Denerim.

"Isolde! I thought you had retired for the evening. Please, join us, and tell us what was in John's letter that gave you this smile that just won't leave your lips." Said Teagan, jesting. Kaitlyn giggled too, reaching for a piece of hard cheese.

"Oh, Teagan, you know that John is no longer a little boy. And how am I not to smile, when he tells me I am to see my son in Amaranthine?" It was reason for smiles, of course, even if the silly smile on Isolde's lips was not only due to her happiness in seeing her son.

"So, he told you, then?" Teagan frowned a little. "It is bold of him to write down that he will take a child from the Circle of Magi. So bold I would say reckless."

"Indeed." Said Kaitlyn, "I wonder, how is it that John intends to take Connor from the Tower without causing a major incident with the templars?"

Both the women's eyes were on Teagan now. Somehow, they knew he had the answer to how John Cousland was going to go so bluntly against the law of the Chantry and, in this case, of the kingdom.

"You must know something, my ladies," said Teagan, "this is confidential. Eamon knows this, and some other few chosen people, and no one else. He trusts you, love, because you are the very reason commerce in Amaranthine is so healthy, and you Isolde, because he knows you will not betray he who saved both your husband and son. But I must state this openly: this cannot leave this room."

Silence followed as the women nodded, apprehensive. Teagan looked around and made sure no one was listening, and explained: "A templar came from Kirkwall to John when he heard the call for the elves. Sheltering the Dalish meant sheltering their Keepers, who are, in the eyes of the Chantry, apostates. Ser Thrask was his name. At first, John thought he was there to bring trouble. But when the templar asked of John that he would hide his own daughter, Olivia, I believe is her name, he earned our good arl's confidence. Now, they both are involved in a plan to bring apostates up to Amaranthine and keep them there, where the very few templars – led by self-proclaimmed Knight-Commander Thrask, will guarantee that the mages are watched, but not imprisoned."

Isolde's eyes moved from Tegan to Kaitlyn and then back at him until she finally took a sit next to the other woman. "This is very serious, Teagan. His wife, lady Leliana, is very pious and religious. Does she know of this?"

Both Teagan and Kaitlyn's countenance grew darker at Isolde's question and the bann nodded, but in a way that made clear that this was not a good thing. "She does, Isolde. And so far, she did not alert the Chantry. But John is doing so much against the power of the Church in his lands, that it is taking its toll on her."

"I know of the things he does, Isolde, and they are not as innocent as he puts it. Even I, sometimes, find myself doubting. But what can I say? I see his arling growing at a tremendous rate. Poverty falls, the city is now beautiful, and day after day, there are more and more elves and dwarves walking the roads of the arling and the streets of the city of Amaranthine. He is casting the Chantry away, and everything improves. How can I say he is wrong?"

Kaitlyn added her voice to her husband's. "It dreads me too, but when I see how things were before and how they are now, I can't say I trust the Maker more than I trust my lord of Cousland."

"Kaitlyn!" Isolde shouted, frightened. "One thing is to turn a blind eye to other man's sins, but don't you speak blasphemy!" Still, the rage of her words did not reach her eyes. It was Teagan who spoke next.

"Admit it, Isolde. Even with all the blasphemy, you are glad you'll be able to see Connor, and that I will not be the only one to carry the Guerrin line forward."

Isolde did not answer. Both the love for her son and the love for her god fought inside her. She had not yet forgotten the price she almost had to pay for disobeying the laws of the Maker. And this she spoke aloud. "I don't know, Teagan. Was not it which brought Connor to be possessed by the demon, in the first place?"

"I thought so too, Isolde." There was something deeper in Teagan's eyes. He spoke now with more property of his words, as if, somehow, the subject mattered a great deal to him. "But you don't know what they will do to Connor in the Tower. The mages, they go through a rite of passage called 'The Harrowing'. Its own name is ominous enough, don't you think? The templars will have the mageling sent to the Fade to face a demon. If he fails, the mage is slain, simply like that. And Connor has already failed once. Eamon's influence was enough to have the templars in the Tower stay their blade. But Eamon is old, and there are dire news coming from Orlais and Kirkwall regarding the growing power and intolerance of the templars. Who is to say that, when it is Connor's time to face the Harrowing, they will tell he failed even before he tries?"

Isolde opened her lips to say something, but Teagan raised a hand and continued. "Also, as he has been once already possessed, who is to say that they won't have him go through the Rite of Tranquility?"

Isolde did not know what the Rite of Tranquility was, and Teagan explained it to her. By the time he was done, Isolde was shivering, so scared she was at the likely possibility that it would happen to Connor.

"In Amaranthine," said Teagan, "if a mage, even an accomplished mage, falls prey to a demon, he is dealt with and the templars, now under Knight-Commander Thrask, incarcerate him. Then, John and his High Kindred, as he calls his closest friends, will go into the Fade and slay the demon. Only then, freed, the mage faces trial and explains why did the demon took possession of the mage's body."

"So, if Connor were to ever fall prey to demon possession again…" Isolde began, "There will be people to free him again!", completed Kaitlyn, enthusiastically.

"Indeed." Teagan was smiling now. "In his first months as arl, John met a Dalish elf, Velana, one of the High Kindred, who knows a ritual that can send regular people into the Fade. That is how he does it. It would all be well, and we would be confident on the success of his enterprise, were it not for lady Leliana."

"Yes, Teagan, you said these changes were taking their toll on her." Isolde pointed, and helped herself to a piece of bread.

Teagan nodded, sipped some of his wine, and added: "Indeed it is. We listen to their arguments almost all nights, and they grow ever fiercer. I would not be surprised if Leliana fled to Orlais, only to return with an Exalted March behind her."

The mention of an Exalted March terrified Isolde and she closed her eyes for a second. "And what hope has a Fereldan arling against the might of the Chantry? And I doubt that Orlais would let this opportunity pass and justify their retaking of Ferelden. By the Maker, they don't even need to come by land; Amaranthine can be invaded by sea."

Teagan smiled a very sly smile. "You have no idea the size of the host John has amassed, Isolde. You know almost half of Ferelden fled the Blight to the Free Marchers, only to find such conditions there that made them envy those who lived in alienages. Trully, I heard that most of Fereldan refugees in Kirkwall lived in the sewers! Now, they all returned, but to Amaranthine, and where once they were an unruly lot, they are now skilled soldiers and sailors. John's navy rules the Waking Sea, Isolde. I am pretty sure his fleet would stand the Empress' ."

"But it is as they say, after all," said Kaytlin with all her folk lore, "lucky in war, unlucky in love. Every improvement he brings to Amaranthine is another brick that falls off of his marriage."

Isolde shook her head silently and finally shrugged, smiling a great, bright smile. "Very well, then! When is it that I am going to see my son?"

Teagan smiled as well. "If my calculations are correct, Ser Thrask will arrive by noon. Then, he will take you to Kinloch Hold, take Connor, and you will have all the road to Amaranthine to stay with him, my lady."

While that conversation carried on, now all smiles and laughter, a boy of Connor's age was glad he managed to escape the castle and come to the village. "One day, I'll have father's sword!" he thought. He missed his old friends, the ones who lived by the shore of the lake, in those houses so smaller than his; like the one he once lived.

It was dark, and Bevin was running through the streets, not scared of the dark, because he was like his father, and his grandfather, and like John, who used his father's sword to slay the walking dead, the darkspawn, and kill the Archdemon. He did not know that in one of the new inns a man and a woman sat, covered under cloaks, each sipping a goblet of warm beer.

"I think if you follow the boy back, you will find an unguarded entrance. Maybe, if I created a distraction, you will have no trouble finding the bann and ending his Maker forsaken life."

The woman looked at Bevin and nodded, taking a sip of her beer. "I saw where he came from. The mill. I have have entered the castle this way once. We will need bann Teagan's signet ring to unlock it."

"I thought you picked locks vey well", said the man.

"I tried, and I couldn't." She bit those words, angry at herself.

"So, your plan is to have the boy fetch it for us?"

"I like the way our minds work together, Cullen."


	10. Act I, Ch 3: As Cold As A Tranquil, 1:2

ACT 1

COME OUT, TO A BRAND NEW WORLD

CHAPTER 3

AS COLD AS A TRANQUIL

Those three days passed in rest and contemplation. Most often than not, Alice would sleep most of the day and wake by late afternoon. Then, she would go for a walk in the forest around the aravels, sup, and retire to her chamber, where she would pray and spend most of the night rethinking the last days of her insane journey.

She was thankful the hallas were heading south: it was the longer way to Amaranthine, but according to K'haron, the northern roads would be crowded with templars looking for her and for himself as well. For a moment after the Blight humankind, at least in Ferelden, grew to be more tolerant of the Dalish. But John's claim for them to gather in Amaranthine created a sparkle that once again kindled the fire of prejudice towards elves. Also, they would visit the usual camping site in the Brecillian Forest, the same one we know about, and there they would rest before finally heading to Amaranthine.

Alice didn't like to admit, but she liked the time she spent with the elves. Even if most of them would simply avoid her and pretend she was not there, she liked to see the way they lived, in close communion with nature, with more wood then stone around them, and a profound sense of community and integrity. Of course, as any society, the Dalish were plenty with flaw, but they were, but one, flaws Alice didn't care about. The only thing she abhorred about them was their refusal in accepting the One True God.

So, by the second night on the road, they found the terrain was becoming more and more uneven close to the lake, and so the hallas began to step away from the shore of the, until the very moment they crossed the Imperial Highway.

She was inside her room, lying in her bed with her eyes closed, wearing only one of the undyed cotton dresses the Dalish gave her. Alice was often pulling its hems down because, made for elves, who were not known for hiding too much skin, it barely covered her thighs, and she felt exposed. It was then that K'haron sent for her, and she joined him on the top of the main aravel. The wind was blowing, and K'haron's long dark hair was dancing to the breeze's tune, while he wore his usual, almost ritualistic clothing: many necklaces, short and long, over his fit, bare chest, white cotton pants and a sleeved dark green robe that hung open over his shoulders.

"You sent for me, First?" All around her, the canopy of the trees loomed too close, some leaves brushing against her face as the aravel moved on.

"Indeed I did, _Falon_." He looked over his shoulders towards her and smiled a short smile. "I think you will like to see this." There was both excitement and sadness in his voice, in his smile. "Come by me and look ahead."

Alice did as told, tugged down the hems of her dress and looked around. "What are we looking at?" As soon as she asked, out of a sudden, the canopies ended and the Aravel was out in the open, a huge wall of white stone stood mighty ahead of them shining in the moonlight. The aravel took a sharp turn left, and K'haron held Alice's arm so she wouldn't fall. The hallas cried, and Alice understood where they were.

A very broad ramp, broad enough for five aravels to ride abreast with easy space between them made its way up the stone road. Alice knew that, in ages before, the imperials used these ramps to maneuver their armies from one side of the Highway to the other. Once, decades ago, teyrn Loghain had found a forgotten one and outmaneuvered an Orlesian host thrice the size of his own, crushing the opressors against the hard white stone of the Tevinter marvel.

Now, several feet above the ground, the aravel rode smoothly, its dozens of high wheels rolling over plain stone instead of raw forest ground. It didn't take long until Alice was able to see in all four directions, only the tall ruined arches of the Imperial Highway breaking her view. Above her, a star spangled sky with more light than dark dots, the constellations easily seen against a background of glittering dust. To the west the Frostback Mountains grew tall and imponent and Alice wondered if they meant something to the Dalish. Now under Orlais, the Dales lay on the other side of them.

East, a blanket of forest ended in the water mirror of Lake Calenhad, and south… it was dark. But not the dark of night, that in a beautiful night like this, with a moon this full, shone with silvery white fringes wherever the relay changed. It was the dark of death, and an instant dread came crawling through her skin, sending bumps of goose all over it. Alice looked around her, and saw that K'haron holding her arm, as much as the other elves atop the aravels had their ears turned back, their big bright eyes all turned south and a solemn, mournful expression on their faces. She could only wonder what they saw with their elven eyes but even with her human ones she knew that the land was Blighted. How many years it would take to grow alive again she did not know. But even now, more than three years after the Battle of Denerim, columns of black smoke rose from the horizon.

"Are we going through the Blighted lands, First?" Alice asked.

"No, _Fallon._ We will almost touch them, but we will go around Redcliffe, a dozen miles away from it, where we will leave you, and then cross the Imperial Highway again into the Southron Hills. From there, we will reach the Brecillian Forest, our next stop. We won't dare set foot in the Blighted Lands."

Alice nodded, and thought of Redcliffe, and whatever awaited her there. According to K'haron, Cullen and her companion targeted bann Teagan, who was not a mage, so she could only wonder why he was Cullen's target. Most likely than not, she thought, it had something to do with Teagan's alliance with John Cousland. Alice knew the Guerrins, both Teagan and Eamon, were John's greatest allies, that not to mention the king himself who, though not Guerrin, behaved like one and bent to the Guerrin's every suggestion.

Another two days passed as the hallas rode through forest once more. But the forest here was not so dense, and most of the trees got close to dying. Many were chopped, some burnt to ash, and everywhere signs of the presence of the darkspawn horde could be seen, even three years after it had last been here. This side of the Imperial Highway had not been nearly as beautiful as the side closer to the Lake. And now, the clan rode tightly together and often would the hunters encounter savage beasts like blight wolves and bereskarns. Alice's gifts as a healer were needed once more, and were it not for her, two hunters would have died on the hands of stray ghouls who attacked the clan.

It was dawn and Alice was asleep when she was softly waked by a young Dalish girl. She did not know either the tongue of commerce, or the Fereldan one, but Alice had spent time enough with the elves to learn a few of their words, and other she knew from studies back in the tower. What Alice made of the girl's words was 'go', 'First', 'north', 'miles' and 'Redcliffe'. Maybe it was time for her to go? She nodded and muttered some thanks, and decided that, finally, it was time to change back into her robes. She would go straight to jail if any man of law saw her dressing the clothes the Dalish gave her while she traveled with them.

She met K'haron on the main aravel, in the center of the line, and Súrinen was with him. There was a smile in k'haron's face that depicted both happiness and a hidden sadness. "For a shemlen, Alice, and for someone who abhors so much our ways and traditions, I will miss you. Thank you for your time with us." said the First. Súrinen's golden eyes moved sideways to him and a brow of his rose, showing the Hunter did not quite agree with K'haron.

"Thank you, First. Is it time that I leave already?"

"Yes, _Fallon_. Your Redcliffe is just north of here, a few miles, and I will send he who brought you to us, Súrinen, to escort you until the fringe of the village. _Dareth Shiral_" Súrinen did not seem happy to do it, arms crossed and brows furrowed, but it was clear he was going to do as told anyway. "You had better depart now, shemlen. The clan will not stop, and the longer you wait, the longer our path will be."

Somehow, Alice liked Súrinen as much as she liked K'haron. Both the hunter's hostility and the First's warm were honest, and Alice liked to deal with people without masks. It was very rare in the circle. She witnessed, one by one, the hubris, the pride of the mages, swallow all her colleagues, until only very few would speak openly of their spells, and would not offer friendship only to access further arcane knowledge.

"So," said Alice with a smile, "we had better not wait, right?" She looked around and decided that, with all the heathen religion and herectic behavior, she was going to miss the aravels. It was weird to have a house that moved, and the idea of not settling in the same place for too long suddenly took root in Alice's heart, although she did not know it yet. With her staff and wearing her robes, she bowed slightly in respect towards K'haron, and lef through the main door of the First's aravel. Súrinen followed next to her, and a halla next to him, walking in a slow pace, without need for reins to guider her way.

"They are beautiful animals, the hallas. I-"

"I don't want to hear you, shemlen. Your actions bold you well, but your words make me hate you. So, I prefer that we don't speak, so, by the time we reach the village, I will still be grateful for you having saved my kindred's lives."

Alice blinked at that, shruged and smiled. All the better. The silence would give her time to ponder what to do next. During her stay with the Dalish she had forgotten a bit the weight in her shoulders, the pressure of being an apostate. Even her dreams were soothed, and she slept without omens or nightmares. But now, the dread came back, and she knew that soon enough, she would need to face fears, and finally confront Cullen. That is, only if he were still in Redcliffe.

The sun was up in the sky when Súrinen simply left without word. The rocks and earth were red, and the floor beneath was more stone than soil. Alice remembered when first she beheld that gentle, warm sight: the lake, the mills, and the houses by the water, with the mighty castle standing vigilant over it all. Redcliffe was so very beautiful that Alice simply wanted to stay when she came along with John Cousland's party and the First Enchanter to help save the arl's son. Almost four years ago it had been, when Cullen's troubles had begun.

She was alone now. So, staff in hand, she trailed down the path that would take her to Redcliffe village.

"Ah, Alice. It does not surprise me to see that you have made this far. Did you like the allies I sent you?"

That voice. Hoarse, spoken slowly, acid dripping from every word. The mage stood alone in the path that curved down to the village, and she knew she was plainly within sight of the guards in the battlements of the castle. "How come you speak to me here, Barthandelus?" Alice asked, already enraged and scared at the demon's intromission.

"You would think I need the fade to be torn for me to speak with you? Nay, Alice, you can hear my whispers wherever you are. But you can feel it, don't you? The Veil spreading thin, still not completely mended?"

She looked around, glad to see she was alone in the red dirt way. "I told you I have nothing to speak to you! It doesn't matter; even if you could bring Cullen to me right now I will not yield to your offers. Begone, demon!"

"Do not shun me yet, Alice, not when you do not know what happens with your beloved. You would not find him throught my aid, Alice, but would you save his life?"

Alice remained silent. A bird cried from the heights, and all around her, the peace of the place was bitter irony to Barthandelus' words. "Tell me, righteous mage. Would you forsake yourself so Cullen can live?"

"What do you mean?" Alice said finally, looking around franctically, as if somehow she was going to be able to see Cullen or Barthandelus and do something about it.

"In this very moment we speak, Alice, Cullen's life hangs by a thread. If you do not reach him and prevent what he is about to do, then you will not be able to stay the steady blade from his own neck."

All this time Barthandelus had always spoken with irony, almost mockery in his voice. But right nowm, his tone had changed completely. Alice could almost see the cold grey eyes that once looked upon hers back in Kinloch Hold. Dread took her body and she stopped looking around, facing the empty space ahead of her, aware of what was going to happen.

Slowly, all red faded to white, a blur of milky confusion that made her head spun. Now, she was seeing the old man, perched upon his white veined obsidian staff, crooked yellow teeth that shone in a smile that, somehow, beneath the long white mustache, had its corners turned down.

"You know I speak truly, Alice, and you know that in this castle ahead of you is the one you sought for so long. And you know he will kill one who you want dead." Barthandelus stayed motionslees, speaking with but the movement of his bearded chin, and yet, it seemed as he moved around, circling Alice. "He will kill a helper of apostates, one of John Cousland's puppets, a Guerrin who trades and ploys with Orlesians. Will you let him live so Cullen can live? Just say the word, my dear, and the lordling falls, while the life of your loved one will be spared."

Alice bent forward and threw up the last of the food she ate while still with the Dalish. Redcliffe was all around her once more, but it was going round and round, stoped yet circling, just like Barthandelus. Once again she puked hard on the red dirt floor. This time, she felt better, and her vision was returning to normal. Cold sweat dotted her temples. She had made her choice.

Some mages back in the Tower hated how Alice, who abhorred her gift and studied so little, dedicating herself more to prayer than to practice, was so skilled with the art of magic. It was because of moments like this, she knew, that she was strong. For some reason she did not know, she could feel the knots of the fabric of reality, every little strand, every tangle of Quintessence. And while she could not work them all to her will, it was strong enough to undo and redo the threads of life and fire, of thunder and wind.

There was a slope above her, steep and stony, but she ran to its top, and from there, it was a plain fall towards the lake, and for those with wings, direct rising to the towers of the castle. She had been there before, inside that castle she loved so much. She dreamed of going back there, never daring to actually act on it. But now, she acted, and acted with the whole might of her magic.

Standing atop the slope, drawing the curious eyes of the guards on the battlements, she raised her eyes to the skies and muttered a silent apology. A faint breeze ruffled her hair and the tips of her fingers moved discreetly, as if she were troubadour playing the lute. At first she whispered the chant which was not of light, spoken in the very language of Tevinter:

_Quae me quasi avem_

_Qui nocte susurros_

_Illud quod flamma ignites_

And the breeze became Wind, and she raised her staff in her left hand, while her right hand was raised as well, palm up.

_Ab aquilone, tepentes flatus_

_Ab austro flante frigida_

_Arcana ortu occurrit Zephyrus_

The Wind became strong and steady, blowing on the rocks beneath her feet and above. Her robes flayed on its assault, and her head no longer fell around her face, but danced as snakes aroused by the flowing air. Alice's voice was now strong and commanding.

_Aura, incertum est clamor tempestatis mei sunt._

_Ego Zephyro, nego terra!_

And finally, she jumped off and shouted:

_EGO DOMINE CAELI!_

Thrusting her staff up like a spear, a whirwind suddenly formed bellow Alice and threw her up, like a gray, spiraling snake. The guards in the battlements cried in awe and started running, shouting of the mage who controlled the winds and made her way up to the tall window, on the tower that faced the lake.

Alice reveled in the power she controlled, in reality bent to her will. It was a marvelous, wonderful feeling, and for a moment, she thought she could crush all bellow her, all the ants beneath she who ruled the skies. It was the sight of Cullen standing in the threshold of Teagan's chambers, doned in full armor and sword in hand that brought her back to herself. He was just like in the dream, wearing the winged helm of the templars. But instead of red eyes, his were his usual brown. And instead of Jowan, curled and wounded against the farther wall of the room was Teagan, bann of Rainesfere.

For a moment, Alice asked herself how come that Cullen would die? His sword was bared, and his left knuckle dripped with blood, the same blood that flowed from Teagan's broken nose and lips. The moment the spiral of wind that brought Alice to the room faded away and her feet touched the floor, the templar lunger forward, knocking her against the wall with his forearm, and very fast, faster than Alice would have thought a man like Cullen fully armored could move, his sword has in her throat, and she could feel that, all around her, the threads of the Tellurian were hardened, almost impossible to be moved.

There was fury in his eyes, a silent fury, with no cry. But as the brown in his eyes caught the brown in hers, all the fury went away, and Cullen walked two broad steps back, holding his broadsword with two hands. "Alice? How… How come… What are you doing here?" Alice took a long and deep breath. Cullen's blow had taken all air from her lungs when her back smashed against the wall, and her collar bones ached badly.

Teagan tried to move, maybe thinking that the templar was distracted, but the latter was swift in move to a point where he blocked the exit. It was Alice who spoke. "I have come for you Cullen." She took a slow step forward, and the templar's sword trembled on his hands. "I know you are out of your mind. Please, please, let me help you. Cease the killing, let us return to the tower and talk to Gregoir. I am sure he will find a way for you to remain there with us and-"

"I cannot, Alice!" He stood still, and pointed the sword to Teagan, who looked at Alice with pleading eyes, even if he did not dare speaking. He feared he could ruin the situation, and also, there was too much pain in his bleeding, broken nose. "There are people like him loose in the world, aiding the enemies of the Maker, and the Order does nothing! I am tired of sitting and watching. The mages in the Tower have already templars enough to guard them. But here lies the man responsible for organizing all apostates in Ferelden, and I will have his head!"

Alice knew it was a unique opportunity. Teagan was one of John's greatest allies, she knew, even locked inside the Tower she knew, but Barthandelus' words rang and resounded in her head. "Cullen, listen! There is sound of swords downstairs! The guards and knights of Recliffe are coming, they know you are here!"

Indeed, the sound of blades was clearly heard from the stairs bellow them, but it was as if someone was giving battle to those who were coming to Teagan's rescue. "You will die if you kill him, Cullen." Alice strode forth, around the bed in the center of the room, and knelt before Teagan. "My lord of Guerrin," said she, "the templar is but lost in his stray thoughts. I beg of you, give us leave to go, and I will see to it that your wounds are healed, and we will be gone immediately."

Teagan looked at her through narrowed eyes, but Cullen, who approached them slowly, was silent. The Guerrin knew that if he did not allow them to go he would be sealing his death. "Very well," said the bann, "if you promise to leave Redcliffe with all haste and never return, you have my permission to go."

Alice nodded, smiling plainly and feeling the tears well in her eyes. She spread her open hands over Teagan, but suddenly, the cold, gentle touch of Cullen's blade came to her neck. "Cullen?" Alice asked as she looked over her shoulders to the templar standing right behind her. He was glorious and terrible with his armor, with the winged helm.

"I must perform my sacred duty." He said. "No mage is innocent. Not a single one." Both Teagan and Alice widened their eyes as the templar raised his sword above his head with both hands. His voice was deprived of any emotion, and his eyes were not focused anywhere. "I must show the Maker I am His to command. I promised to slay every mage. And thus, every mage I will slay." Alice's chin tried to move, but she was agape, and the tears he had held back now rolled by her cheeks. "Including you. My dearest infatuation."


End file.
